The Long Road Home Book 1: Promised Land
by Uberscribbler
Summary: What if the Thirteenth Colony wasn't a myth? What would they look like? How would they react to the arrival of their cousins? The first of three or more books, now COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard Disclaimer: **The overall storyline is the intellectual and legal property of those August Personages: Ronald D. Moore and the SciFi Channel. This is being written without their leave, approval, knowledge (I hope), or with any hope of material profit on my part. In other words, this is done purely for fun and not profit. Please no-one sue me 'cause I'm too broke from University to bother with. There will be violence, swearing, technobabble, a bit of romance, a few surprises, a few explosions, angst, a few more explosions, treacherous toasters, free alcohol, anxieties about pathogens, and the kitchen sink. Any of this bothers anyone, please leave now 'cause I'm not apologizing later.

**Summary: **What if the Thirteenth Colony was real? What would they look like? And what would they make of their cousins from the stars?

**Timeline: **This takes place some two years following the events in "Maelstrom", with the following provisos: Starbuck doesn't return to the Fleet, Lee and Dee stay split up, Lee doesn't rejoin the military, the Fleet survived Baltar's trial, Baltar isn't executed or assassinated, Caprica has followed Athena and joined the Galactica, and the Thirteenth Colony isn't just a legend. What's happened in the interim? You'll just have to read and see.

**Pairings: **Not saying!

**Remember: REVIEWS MORE FANFIC!**

**That all said, onwards and upwards…

* * *

**

THE LONG ROAD HOME

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part 1

* * *

**

_The virus was created by human hands. _

_It grew. It evolved._

_It escaped. Humans called it The Blight._

_It killed. Five billion humans died. _

_Humanity survived their mistake, barely._

_Fifty years later…_

**20 July 2069 Common Era**

**1148 Hours GMT**

**Terran Defense Forces Headquarters – "The Octagon" **

**McLean, Virginia Territory, North America**

For a man most directly responsible for the defense of an entire planet and its peoples and all its extra-planetary installations and ventures, Undersecretary of Fleet Operations Robert N. Cornwell did not strike a very cutting figure and made no effort to. He was comfortable in his role of chief bureaucrat of a fast-sprawling department who served as occasional eye-candy for the media. There was no question of his qualifications for his job, mind; he'd been among the first to make sense of the find in Alaska and had personally supervised the construction of the _Olympus _herself, as well as the laying down of her two sister ships.

It was not unknown for him to spend days on end at his suite in the Octagon, either terrorizing contractors who were slow in their delivery or badgering the uniform brass about one thing or another. It didn't hurt his wife was currently serving off-world aboard the _Bouhuchan_ currently.

That morning found the Undersecretary walking from a just-completed video conference between himself and his longtime _bete noir_ and nominal superior, Undersecretary of Defense Anthony Baker, who had yet to ever step foot inside the Octagon itself or any of the ships he was supposed to be in overall charge of. The man was a borderline disaster as an administrator and director. His one saving grace was having the ear of powerful concerns in Hong Kong and within the Euro-Combine, which meant he could push through appropriations faster than most. The office of UNSECDEF was effectively toothless anyway despite its placement in the TOE and it was hoped his out-of-control ego would do the least amount of damage there.

Sadly, Baker had apparently made it his life's mission to antagonize a certain CCAW, which caused FLEETOPS no end of worry that said CCAW might actually follow through with her many threats to geld, eviscerate, mangle, flay, or otherwise dismantle the UNSECDEF with a blowtorch and pair of pliers. The past week with her off-planet had been nothing short of heaven, even if it did leave daily arguments with Barker over readiness issues or Rear Admiral Cornelius about construction schedules.

He was heading to his own suite of offices, dreams of home-brewed espresso dancing in his head, when he noticed his uniformed aide hurrying toward him. "Sir?" the younger man called, slightly out of breath.

"Catch your breath, Marcel," Cornwell grinned. "Nothing's that urgent."

The aide handed him a single sheet of hardcopy that had been folded over so only its heading was visible. "Emergency Flash Traffic from the _Olympus, _Sir."

"Yes, the big block letters at the top are a little hard to read." Captain Janos Marcel was one of those literal types Cornwell could never resist gently needling. He put on his archaic reading glasses and unfolded the paper.

"It's signed by Admiral Rice…" Marcel attempted to continue.

The Undersecretary took off his glasses and waved them toward the aide. "These do work you know." He quickly settled them back onto his nose and refocused on the paper before him. There was a dangerous undercurrent to his voice when he spoke a second or two later.

"Have you read this?"

"No, Sir. It was marked your eyes only…"

"This is nearly three minutes old."

"Coding delays, Sir."

Without taking his eyes off the paper, the Undersecretary broke off into a brisk trot down the wide corridor. Marcel hustled to keep up with him and make sure he caught the many orders his civilian superior snapped off.

"Signal a recall all staff and implementation of all COACs."

"Yes, Sir." He'd already pulled his wireless pad from his uniform pocket and was typing in the orders and the ones that followed. Marcel didn't notice the direction they'd been moving until they stepped into a very special elevator. He had accompanied his superior into here only once, nearly two years ago. The next words from the Undersecretary, fully expected as they were, left him chilled as no others might.

"We are at Case ZULU," Cornwell stated, the doors clicking closed that same instant.

* * *

**Eleven hours earlier...**

**0037 Hours GMT**

**Asteroid Belt**

**2.35 Astronomical Units (AUs) from Sol**

**202.5 Million Kilometers from Earth orbit**

**Battlestar _Olympus_ (TBS-1) **

**Advance Patrol/Training Cruise**

**Day 6 of 8**

The six Vipers of Black Wing shot out of their launch tubes at standard acceleration and quickly formed into their pre-assigned pairs and vectored towards their CAP sectors. The Vipers were the newer, dart-shaped Mark Vs, some of the first ones off the production lines back in Norfolk and Detroit. They had just completed their shakedowns over the White Sands Test Range so it was no surprise Black Wing was assigned them for their first run.

Terran humanity had only recently left its home world's gravity and taken its first steps to Earth's closer neighbors. This didn't mean it was wholly ignorant of the dangers it would likely face someday. Hence, the rigorous on-the-job training Viper pilots received with their hardware. _Olympus_'s Black Wing was the oldest 'classes' of Viper drivers to survive their introduction to aerospace combat flight school, and so always got first crack at the newest models.

Their departure was monitored via the AEGIS sensor array. An evolutionary outgrowth of the Advanced Electronic Guidance Information System used by various 'wet' navies of the previous century for integrated missile guidance and defense, AEGIS acted as the integrated sensory and analytic brain of the Battlestar, constantly receiving streams of geo-astronomical and astro-radiological data as well as internal reports and meshing them all into a single cohesive picture. The AEGIS was a Battlestar's first 'shield' against dangers both natural and artificial, ideally capable of alerting the CIC to anything larger than a grain of dust approaching the ship. If worse came to worse, it could be released from manual interfaces and able to respond to multiple incoming threats instanteously.

The current exercise was intended to look in on a Euro-Combine mining expedition that had recently started working in the edge of the 'Belt while also giving the Fleet a chance to shake the bugs out of the new planes. The second shift had finished taking over in CIC and the standard rounds of updates and reports were being collated for review by the Command staff. In all, another quiet day aboard Terra's first Battlestar.

It was rather a surprise then when Commander Richard Avery-Hunter, the ship's CO, cried out in his distinctive Oxbridge accent "Admiral on the Bridge." As one, the crew straightened where they sat or stood for a moment as Admiral Theodore Rice stepped into sight.

"As you were," the Admiral immediately declared, privately relieved when the crew returned their tasks and all visibly relaxed. He was an American by birth but distinctly African in heritage, complete with a complexion of dark mocha and equally dark eyes that missed nothing around him. Like the Commander, he wore the familiar Duty Uniform the Terran Fleet had adopted, a double-breasted tunic with buttons on the right side, with fitted trousers tucked into combat boots, but wore a white beret, whereas the Commander and other officers wore ones whose midnight blue matched the fabric of their uniforms. His tunic also sported gold piping and a single gold band about each wrist, where the others wore silver and slimmer bands denoting their rank.

He was intimately familiar with the workings of the Bridge, having stood precisely where Avery-Hunter now did for the better part of two years before his promotion six months ago. Rice, then a mere Lieutenant Commander back then, had been among the naval personnel who had assisted in the excavation of the _Olympus_'s "mother" from the Alaskan tundra nearly twenty years ago. Since then he'd been immersed in building the Terran Fleet from the keel up and likely was the second-best expert on the technology and tactics involved in the whole damned fleet. The first best, the _real_ expert, on the other hand…

"Launch run okay?" he asked his former XO.

The Oxford native nodded, eyes on the AEGIS screens mounted overhead. "No worries, Sir. Mark Fives seem to be running fine."

"Remind me again why we agreed to this?" The question had been asked frequently between the two of them over the last six days. Every time Black Wing launched from their tubes, in fact.

"Because a certain person stated she would geld Cornelius _and_ tear Barker's face off unless granted some 'stick time'." The reply was as practiced as any order Avery-Hunter might bark to his staff and crew, delivered as evenly as calmly as the question itself. Admiral Antonius Cornelius was the director of the Fleet Bureau of Ships, responsible for the design and construction of every hull of every Battlestar, Viper and every other Fleet vessel planned, while Anthony Baker was the civilian head of the Terran military offices; both were necessary pains to deal with. Threats of violence against either or both were not unknown.

The difference was the person in question would actually go through with such threats; hence the need to get them off-planet and back behind the stick for a bit.

"Sir," called out Specialist First Class Neil Sorrenson, one of the AEGIS monitors. Avery-Hunter took a last long look at the monitors overhead and turned to step towards the monitor in question. Normally he'd have left such things to his XO, but Colonel Callisto was down in Engineering at that moment. He wasn't surprised to find Rice shadowing him over.

Sorrenson gave both a nod of acknowledgement, but addressed his CO directly. "Sir, I've been monitoring the, uh, wireless channels used by the Viper patrols…"

"And?"

"Well, sir, I seem to be getting a bit of interference at the upper 400 band."

"That's unusual," Admiral Rice noted quietly, letting his mind pick at this little puzzle. Wireless communication still wasn't that far removed from old fashioned radio, save for the power used to generate the signals and the sensitivity of the receivers used. Civilian transmissions were limited to the 100 to 299.89 transmission bands, while the Fleet had exclusive rights to everything in the 300 to 499.99 bands. Interference like Sorrenson was reading was only possible if you had a stronger signal source transmitting along a higher band near the specific band-setting.

"What setting are you monitoring?" the Admiral asked.

"497.99, sir," Sorrenson replied, then specified. "Black Alpha."

The CO groaned and Rice couldn't help but wince. Both men understood better than the Specialist did what those two pieces of information might portend. The first was that there was something out there that was broadcasting somewhere in the low 500 wireless setting. For reasons few within either the Fleet or the public knew about, settings at 500 and higher were strictly prohibited. At the very least, they were looking at a potentially serious breach of military security protocols.

The more worrying was the second part. 'Black Alpha' was the designation for Black Leader and wingman while they were on CAP. And given precisely _who_ was acting as Black Leader this week…

"We'd better bring 'em home, eh?" Avery-Hunter's grin held neither cockiness nor joviality right then as he quickly moved back to his 'desk' in the middle of the bridge. He quickly pulled the wireless from its cradle on the side and ordered, "Patch me to Black Alpha."

The Comms officer, First Lieutenant August Samson, tapped several keys on his keyboard then looked up. "Connected, Sir."

"Black Alpha, _Olympus_ Actual."

"_Greyhound responding, _Olympus _Actual."_

"We've…stand by, Black Alpha." Avery-Hunter gave the Admiral a puzzled look at his superior's sudden gesture for him to stop. "Sir?" Since their respective promotions, both men had been conscious to keep the expanded professional distance between them. Not to say it was easy for either of them, though.

"Keep them out there for an eye-spy," the Admiral said quietly.

"You want to keep 'em out there?"

The Admiral shrugged and pointed out, "They're fairly close to Bingo Fuel as it is. And this is why we're out here in the first place, right?" It wasn't really a question and didn't require a real answer. The Commander simply nodded his understanding and raised the wireless handset again.

"Black Alpha, we're picking up a transmission on the restricted band in your sector. We are sending new vectors to you now. Check out the general vicinity of the transmission and report your findings. ROE is now eye-spy." Avery-Hunter looked back to Specialist Sorrenson and snapped his fingers. Sorrenson quickly typed the commands into his console, and then gave a thumbs-up sign.

"_Eye-spy. Copy that, _Olympus _Actual. Receiving new vectors now."_

A second voice filtered through the wireless; Greyhound's (temporary) wingman stated, "_We're about ten minutes from Bingo Fuel, _Olympus _Actual."_

"I am aware. Your discretion."

"_Understood, _Olympus _Actual. Black Alpha clear."_

Both Commander and Admiral looked back up at the main AEGIS display, watching as the two blips representing Black Alpha moved from their established route and veered sharply towards the 'Belt itself.

* * *

**0055 Hours GMT**

**Black Alpha**

**Five minutes to Bingo Fuel**

Captain Charles Barker, call sign Greyhound, kept one eye on his AEGIS and the other on the Viper on his starboard wing. The section of the 'Belt they were now cruising over had recently played host to some of the Euro-Combine's remote miners, though you wouldn't be able to tell simply because the 'Belt itself was about as substantial as a light fog and even less of a navigational hazard to them right then.

This was just as well as his attention was taken up by his wingman's decidedly uncharacteristic silence. "You okay over there?" he asking into their ship-to-ship commlink.

"_Copasetic,"_ was the terse reply, putting a lie to the word.

"Right. What's up?"

"_Just…remembering the last time I flew an op like this."_

"Bad?"

"_Not bad bad. Just…we had an ace fighter we were hunting back then. Plus I was paired up with a real piece of work, y'know?"_

"Worse than the current class?" The thought made Greyhound chuckle, as if there were something amusing about there being a bigger screw-up in the universe than the current crop of 'nuggets' undergoing instruction back Earth-side.

"_Good stick-jockey. Lousy drunk, tho'."_

"Takes one t'know one, eh?" Greyhound chuckled again as his wingman nudged their Viper unsettlingly close to his own. He caught sight of a decidedly rude gesture being thrown his way from the other cockpit. "Back attcha." There wasn't a single bigger teetotaler in the Fleet than this one.

"_Frak you."_

"Anytime, Boss." Greyhound stole a glance at his HUD and continued in a more serious tone. "We're less than two minutes from Bingo and I'm picking up nothing but dust."

"_Same here. Guess we're chasing ghosts…hold it."_

"What?"

"_Movement on my Five." _Without further comment, his wingman fired their maneuvering thrusters and took off at a 60-degree angle below the horizon, firing their burners and heading on a collision course with the fog of the 'Belt itself. This behavior made perfect sense a moment later when Greyhound caught sight of a flash of movement far below them. He quickly guessed it was over 20 kilometers distant and just emerging from the 'Belt itself, the small trail of dust and stone that followed in its wake a clear sign of its passage.

He had no time to discern more details however as the object flashed…and vanished. Whatever curse he might have offered was overwhelmed by the vitriol his wingman began shouting that same instant.

"_It jumped! Frak!"_

"Olympus Actual, this is Greyhound. Come back?"

"_Olympus Actual here, Greyhound. We registered an FTL event near you."_

"_The frakker jumped right in front of us!"_ his wingman growled, then continued in a calmer voice. "_I got a shot of him on my nose plate, though. Might be enough for analysis."_

"_All right. Come back to the Barn, both of you. Black leader, you are to take your data-card directly to ISA when you land. I'm launching Gold Wing to take over. Acknowledge."_

"Acknowledged, Olympus Actual. Greyhound clear."

"_Acknowledged, Olympus Actual. Black Leader, clear."_

With that, both Vipers returned to formation and hit their burners, winging back to their home. Behind them, the celestial wreckage drifted on, seemingly as undisturbed as when the stars and planets beyond first formed.

* * *

**0103 Hours GMT**

**Battlestar _Olympus_**

**Portside Hanger Deck**

There was a trio of Marines waiting for Black Leader's Viper as it was lowered from the recovery deck. They were careful to keep out of the way of the Deck Crews who hustled forward to begin their standard workups of the newly returned planes, moving forward only when all six Vipers were locked and their engines had finished cycling down. The Deck was quickly filled with the sounds of machinery and movement that was nigh unto deafening. The Marines quickly found the pilot they sought and nimbly weaved their way there. "Colonel?" shouted the senior of the trio, a rough-faced Captain named NFN (No First Name) Flynn. He was XO of the _Olympus_'s Marine detachment and had the sort of voice you'd take pains to avoid having directed towards you, no matter the occasion.

Black Leader simply held a hand up and assisted the Chief Petty Officer in opening the nose of the Viper. So great was the haste involved that the Colonel hadn't even broken the helmet seals yet. The CPO, a wiry specimen with parched-looking skin and gray hair named McCoy, reached into the nose assembly and gently pried out a small card out of the tangle of wires and sensory instrumentation there. "Data card for your AEGIS," McCoy stated unnecessarily, his voice barely audible over the din.

The Colonel nodded and cradled the wafer-thin piece in both hands, allowing Major Flynn and one his men to take the lead out of the Hanger Deck, the third quickly bringing up the rear. The Marine's uniforms, similar to those worn by the ship's officers but khaki and trimmed with olive green, cleared a path for them through the labyrinthine corridors of the ship as surely as if the CO himself had ordered all personnel to hug the walls until further notice.

The Imaging and Signals Analysis Unit was located Portside on Deck Kappa (K). Even so, it was a good ten minutes of power walking before they reached their destination. The ISA Unit area itself was little more than a series of dedicated workstations and standalone mainframes with a handful of specialists operating them. The unit's head, Lieutenant Glenn Collins, was standing ready to receive the card when they arrived. He was holding an internal comms when they arrived and spoke into it as soon as they were in sight.

"They're arriving now, Sirs. I'm putting this on speaker." With that, Collins hit a side control and settled the handset back on its cradle. "Sirs, are you hearing us?"

"_Affirmative, Lieutenant. This is Admiral Rice. Who's down there with you?"_

The Marine officer cleared his throat and called out "Sir, this is Captain Flynn. With me are Lance Corporal Jilani and PFC Hamlaan."

The Colonel, who had deposited the data card into Collins's hands while Flynn was speaking, made quick work of the catches on the flight helmet and pulled it off. Taking a moment to shake a head of short, sweat-streaked blonde hair free of the helmet, the Colonel stated, "This is Black Leader, Admiral. I've had the data card in my hands since landing and in full view of Major Flynn and his men. I have now placed it directly into Lieutenant Collins's hands."

"_Confirmed. Chain of Custody noted. Collins?"_

"Sir?"

"_Make this your priority. Work back from the FTL event recorded and give us as much as you can wash up on the vehicle in question."_

"Aye-aye, Sir." The junior officer was quick to relocate himself to a workstation well away from the others.

"_Captain Flynn?"_

"Admiral?"

"_Please escort Black Leader back to her quarters."_

"Aye-aye, Sir." The Marine officer tone and stance gave nothing away. The Colonel was far less restrained, quickly grabbing up handset and argued in a completely respectful yet forceful tone "Sir, I have to debrief Black…" She paused and listened. "Yes, Sir. Greyhound is perfectly capable…no, Sir. I haven't forgotten my other…obligations. I appreciate that…very well, Sir." She placed the handset back on its cradle and gathered up her flight helmet. "Let's go, boys."

Her tone was flint-hard now and she marched with the sort of purpose that no fool would dare stand in the way of. The Marines were quick to form up behind her. More than a few of the rest of the crew in the hallways made it a point of getting out of the much-respected and volatile officer's path as well.

The Colonel spared none of them glance, her attention instead taken up by two small tasks: number one was maneuvering her way to her quarters on C Deck, which would have proven far, far easier if she didn't also have to, number two, studiously ignore the tall figure that took up position at her shoulder. His unshaven chin and scruffy civilian clothing stood out like a beacon amid the crisp uniforms surrounding them.

In another time and place, the figure would have gone by the name of Leoben Conoy. But not here, not now.

"The Admiral was right, you know," the figure said quietly, for the Colonel's ears alone. "You have been…remiss…in your personal duties." They were intimate words, free of malice or rancor.

"Frak off," was the Colonel's equally quiet reply, though far heavier with both malice and rancor.

"You'll have to make a decision at some point, you know." He leaned close enough that his lips practically tickled her ear. "There's no escaping it."

"When I want your damned opinion, I'll _give_ it to you."

"Colonel?" The Colonel cursed under her breath, irritated that she'd raised her voice enough that Flynn had caught it.

"Nothing, Major," she said with a throwaway smirk over her shoulder. "Just…thinking aloud." Another glance behind her confirmed Leoben had vanished back to where he'd come from. Nearly two years now, he'd been bothering her and she was _still_ overreacting to him. She refused to bother further with that train of thought and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

They ate up the remaining deck space to the residential section. The Marine who stood guard at the door to the quarters she had been assigned immediately straightened and snapped a parade-ground salute to her. Kara returned it and studied the nameplate that had been affixed to the door as she unconsciously tapped in the entrance code into the small keypad that served as the door's handle.

**CCAW**

**Colonel Kara A. Thrace**

"**Starbuck"**

The door unlocked automatically and Kara Antigone Thrace, call sign "Starbuck" and Commander of Combined Air Wings, Terran Fleet, stepped through with a jovial call of "Honey, I'm home." The door automatically shut behind her, cutting off any reply that might have been heard within.

TBC…

* * *

Dictionary: 

Bingo Fuel –**a prebriefed amount of fuel that would allow a safe return to the base of intended landing**

CAP – Combat Air Patrol

CCAW – Commander of Combined Air Wing

CO – Commanding Officer

COOC – Continuity of Action Contingencies

FLEETOPS – Undersecretary of Terran Defense Fleet Operations

FTL – Faster Than Light, used in reference to the spatial drive systems that allow a ship to 'jump'/teleport great distances

GMT – Greenwich Mean Time

HUD – Head's Up Display

ROE – Rules of Engagement

TOE – Table of Organization and Equipment

XO – Executive Officer

UNSECDEF – Undersecretary of Terran Defense


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers in Part One.** **Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

**That all said, back to the Asteroid Belt…

* * *

**

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part Two

* * *

**

_When The Blight had passed, humanity rebuilt._

_Earth became green once more._

_Then something was found under the frozen ground of Alaska._

_Something that had fallen from the skies, four thousand years ago._

_Twenty years later…_

**0412 Hours GMT**

**Battlestar** **_Olympus_**

**Imaging and Signals Analysis Unit**

While comparatively young for his rank, no one could ever say Glenn Allen Collins hadn't earned it or his position aboard the _Olympus_. Few aboard fully appreciated the central role ISA played in the day-to-day operation of both the Battlestar itself and the Fleet in general, ensuring the CIC had accurate astrophysical data to navigate and react to.

Fortunately Collins and his staff all lacked the sort of ego that might otherwise inflate to unbearable proportions. As with the rest of the generation born after The Blight, their work ethic was dedicated to the point of obsessive, and impersonal to the point of robotic. Small wonder given the human race had been reduced to less than a third its original number in the span of a couple years. The survivors had to pick quickly through the remains and learn keep the complex machinery humanity had come to depend upon so heavily functioning. Personal recognition, while fine, had became rather secondary to simply making sure the plumbing still worked and the streetlights turned on properly.

Collins himself had been in uniform for barely a year, his assignment to _Olympus_ thanks solely to his technical skill than any serious ambition on his part. There was no question in his mind where his niche was, and he'd made damned sure he kept to it. This latest challenge put to him by the Admiral wasn't anything more straining than his usual analysis of AEGIS data. Indeed, it was noticeably easier as he only had to work on three seconds worth of data.

Or so he initially thought. Three hours in, he felt comfortable enough with the results that he finally went to comm and paged Admiral Rice. "Sir? I have the initial results ready for review."

"_Bring it to my cabin on a portable. And make sure you wipe the hard-drive of the console. This is hands-to-eyes-only."_

"Understood, Sir." Collins settled the handset back down and returned to his workstation. The Admiral's directive wasn't entirely unexpected given the circumstances, so he already had a portable viewing unit ready. It was a simple matter of swapping out the hard-drive from the workstation itself and plugging it into the portable. This left the workstation an empty shell that could tell no secrets.

Locking the hard-drive into place in the portable, he quickly closed the carry case and headed out, mindful to keep his steps light and casual.

* * *

**0452 Hours GMT**

**CCAW's** **Quarters**

The comms set chimed twice, echoing in the otherwise empty sitting room. There was giggling and splashing to be heard in the adjoining room. By the time a third chime echoed, a decidedly damp and harried-looking Kara Thrace dashed in, trying to tie her bathrobe closed without tripping over it. She fumbled a moment with the handset, clapping one over the receiver and calling over her shoulder "You stay put!" More splashes and giggling could be heard behind her. Kara took a deep breath and raised the receiver to her ear. "Colonel Thrace speaking."

"_Catch you at a bad time, Colonel?"_ Admiral Rice's voice held only the faintest trace of amusement.

"It's _never_ good time, Sir," Thrace replied seriously. "What's up?"

"_Lieutenant Collins has finished his initial wash of your data card. We'd like your take on his results."_

"I'll be there in, say, twenty minutes?"

"_Make it no less than sixty, Colonel. Higher priorities, remember."_

Kara Thrace, who once would not have thought twice of arguing with her superiors at the slightest provocation, could only sigh and accept the unspoken reprimand. "Understood, Sir. An hour, then. Starbuck clear." She let the handset drop back to desk and hurried back to the head. "Lords of Kobol, preserve me," she muttered and slammed the door shut.

* * *

**0600 Hours GMT**

The door chime sounded, which had Kara practically sprinting across the sitting room and stabbing the intercom while simultaneously attempting to button up her uniform tunic. "Yes?" she hissed irritably.

"_Lieutenant Mahn, Sir."_

Kara took a deep breath and abandoned wrestling with her tunic. She hit the lock on the door and stepped back to allow her recently-assigned aide entrance. The young woman, sporting pilot's wings on her immaculate uniform, snapped a crisp salute to her superior. Kara returned it distractedly, fumbling again with the buttons one-handed. "Frakkin' buttons," she muttered as the last one stubbornly refused to poke through its assigned space. Straightening, she asked "How do I look?"

"Like you've been running a marathon again." Respectful as her tone was, there was no missing the air of disapproval to the words, as much from the slight disarray of her superior's uniform as the more general disarray around them. Mahn, whose Eurasian features occasionally caused the Colonel to call her "Sharon", helped her finish closing and straightening her tunic. She also noticed some spots of discoloration on her sleeve. Blowing another quiet sigh, Mahn went the desk in the room's corner and retrieved her beret. Settling it onto her superior's head, she noted how...damp her hair was. She also took the opportunity to brush some flakes of talcum powder off the Colonel's sleeves.

"Remind me to get some clean blues when I get back," Kara muttered, brushing herself down.

"Noted, Sir. And I'll be sure to…convey your regrets?" Mahn asked the last with a pointed nod towards the half-closed door leading to the small bunkroom.

"You do that."

Shan Coy Mahn had the wisdom and experience only a mother (or in her case, elder sibling) of children might claim, allowing her to mother-hen her otherwise uncontrollable superior officer. There was however no way under the Gods own stars that Kara Antigone Thrace would _ever_ allow the younger woman know just how much she depended upon her. Nope. No way. Charon would carry her across the River without his coin before she uttered so much as one word in that direction.

"Thanks, Shan," the Colonel nodded and gave her subordinate a sharp salute. Mahn came to attention and returned it, remaining there until Kara quit the room. She then set about salvaging what she could of the wreckage that cluttered the room.

"Les enfants et leurs jouets," she mused to herself as she worked.

She had made some headway restoring order to the sitting area and was debating whether or not to attack the piles of papers some fifteen minutes later when The Bosun's Whistle sounded over intercom, followed by Lieutenant Samson's voice calling out "Attention. Attention. Black Wing is to assemble in Briefing Room Able in thirty minutes. Repeating: all Black Wing pilots are to assemble in Briefing Room Able in thirty minutes. That is all."

To which Lieutenant Mahn could only sigh "So much for a quiet night."

* * *

**0635 GMT**

**Briefing Room Able**

There wasn't much to distinguish "Able" from other briefing rooms used throughout the ship. It had the standard lectern and projection screen taking up one wall, with space enough for just a single wing of pilots and perhaps a few others. What wasn't immediately noticeable was how the room had no external data connection to the rest of the ship. Use of the room was limited to the most secure briefings. Its standalone configuration, plus the many countermeasures that were built into the walls, floor, ceiling, and even the chairs themselves, effectively minimized the chances of any external surveillance.

This was not widely known. The vast majority of the crew believed it was just a converted closet where the Command staff could dress down recalcitrant pilots. Even Colonel Thrace, cagey as she naturally was, did not have full knowledge of just _how_ secure the room was…or its other designated purposes, that of 'fallout shelter' for a very select few aboard.

That day however saw the five pilots of Black Wing sitting in Room Able when Admiral Rice, Commander Avery-Hunter and a decidedly unhappy looking Colonel Thrace all marched in. Greyhound, as the next senior to the squadron and the only one still standing, straightened at their arrival and called out, "Senior officers on deck!" The rest of the pilots all silenced and snapped to attention.

"At ease," Admiral Rice ordered as he took the podium.

"As some of you may have heard, Black Alpha encountered something a bit odd at the end of your last CAP." He nodded over to Thrace, who took a data card from her breast pocket and plugged it into a projection unit that was imbedded on the neighboring table. The recording of the critical three seconds from her Viper's AEGIS popped onto the projection screen behind them an instant later, though at a much reduced speed. The Admiral let the assembled ponder what they were looking at for several moments. Even though he had already viewed the same images at least dozen times by now, he still found himself missing the appearance of the bogey right up to the moment it jumped.

After an appropriate span, he reset the tape, and then let it run to 1.65 seconds, where the unknown ship first broke cover. He froze that image and turned back to the pilots. "This bogey was either spying on Black Alpha's patrol sector or, more likely, was on reconnaissance when Starbuck and Greyhound happened across them. Imagining and Signals went over this data with a fine tooth comb to get us a silhouette of the bogey itself. This is what they came up with."

He tapped a button on the stick-shaped remote in his hand, and the image behind him immediately zoomed in on the bogey. The tape then progressed to 2.89 seconds, when it had cleared the 'Belt fully, freezing again as the color slowly drained from the image itself. In barely a minute it was reduced to a mass of lines and spaces that looked like some nightmarish paint-by-numbers scene. Another minute and the majority of the lines faded, leaving a vaguely rectangular-shaped form dominating the screen.

The Admiral let them all study the silhouette as he announced "I'm going to turn this over to Colonel Thrace now. Colonel?"

Kara took the podium with a nod to her superior. "Thank you, Admiral." She gazed at her squadron and waited a few extra moments for them to turn their attention back to her. When only Greyhound did so, she tapped the lectern and growled, "Eyes front." The pilots and senior officers all snapped their necks about to give her their undivided attention. Under other circumstances she might have found this amusing, but now?

"Okay, to answer the most obvious questions. No, we have no idea what this bogey is. If it's something out of Skunk Works, nobody's bothered to tell _me_ about it." She managed to sound especially aggrieved at the prospect. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the smirk that quirked the Admiral's otherwise blank expression. "If, on the other hand, it's something the Euro-Combine or the Chinese put together, then we've got trouble. here. This thing was squawking on the low 500 wireless band." She fixed each of the pilots with a firm look. "I _don't_ need to tell you what a serious breach that could prove to be, do I?" Thrace let this hang in the air a moment, allowing her pilots to ponder lessons she'd literally pounded into them in the past.

One of the pilots, a bespectacled young redhead from Ireland who'd taken the ironic call sign Cyclops, raised her hand. At the Colonel's nod of acknowledgment, she rose and asked in her distinctive Irish lilt, "What d'_ye_ think it is, Sir?"

Kara took a moment before answering. She looked back to the projection screen and pointed towards the presumed 'tail' of the ship, saying "Note the pair of raised fins on the end, near what we think are twin engines. The overall design of the bogey…notice the very straight lines of fuselage…" She ran her finger over the top and underside of the shape. "It is possible we're looking at a heavy-class ZULU here."

The air went still at this. ZULU was a code-sign they all knew intimately. In many ways, it was the very reason the Fleet was organized and the UN was engaged in a frantic, almost reckless crash program of construction and training to expand it as quickly as possible.

"How likely is that?" Greyhound asked a moment later, to which the Colonel could only shrug.

"The estimated length of the bogey is roughly seven to nine meters, so round that out to about twenty-eight feet. This plus the fins and double engines and overall shape more or less fits with known designs." She took her eyes from the screen and fixed them back on her pilots. "Regardless of whatever it is or wherever it came from, the fact remains we have an unknown visitor in our patrol area who is talking on a band where they shouldn't be." She gave a dramatic pause, then continued with, "Which is why we are going to be going back out into that patrol area and _find_ said unknown visitor."

The pilots of Black Wing all shifted uneasily in their seats at this news, though none raised their hands or voices in protest. Admiral Rice stepped forward and took Kara's place. "As the Colonel just stated, you're going hunting for our friend here. We've already recalled Gold Wing and launched Jade Wing to cover CAP while your birds are being prepped."

"Prepped how, Sir?" asked Kenneth Williams, a tallish pilot from somewhere called 'Tennessee'. However because of his stature and seeming lack of muscle mass, his call sign was Scarecrow.

"Your Vipers are being fitted with relays that will provide real-time link between your on-boards and the main AEGIS array here on _Olympus_. This will allow us to process whatever you encounter or record almost instantly and be able to respond."

"We going in hot, Sir?" This came from a female pilot whose complexion was only a shade lighter than the Admiral's and carried the call sign "Tiger" thanks to her nonstop aggressiveness.

"Full loadout," nodded Starbuck. "This is the real deal, children," she added soberly. "This is what you trained for."

"Sir?" Greyhound called again, eyes specifically on Admiral Rice. "What our ROE?"

"We're staying with 'Eye-Spy' for the moment. If it turns out to be somebody's new toy, I want them corralled and brought in. _Preferably _with as little damage as possible." This last was said with eyes on Tiger, who was known to be generous with the 'discretionary fire'.

"And if it's a Zulu?"

"In that case, you call it in and get out of Dodge. If pursued, you defend yourself with maximum prejudice. We'll be at 'Watchtower' and will be launching Alert Vipers to back you up."

Greyhound raised his hand. "Time-frame, Sir?"

Starbuck stepped forward. "Pre-flight starts in forty. Wheels up in sixty. No change in pairings or patrol assignments." She waited a beat. "Any last questions?"

There were none, to which Admiral Rice stated "Then we'll see you on the launch deck in forty. Dismissed." The handful of pilots filed out, followed by the CO. Starbuck lingered behind, eyes on the still-frozen silhouette on screen. Admiral Rice likewise remained.

Eventually he asked her "What are your thoughts, Colonel?"

"It's...maybe it's a Heavy Zee, quote unquote. I don't know."

"By rights I shouldn't let you in a cockpit. Especially if it's ZULU."

"Neither should any of those kids."

"Most of them are older than you."

"And I've got more time in Vipers than all of them combined." She pulled her gaze from the screen to meet Rice's eyes. "You need me out there right now. And if you'll excuse me, I've got a pre-flight to do in forty minutes." Kara Antigone Thrace had never been the most respectful of authority, and that day was no different. She flicked off a passable salute, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room, having somewhere infinitely more important to be for the next thirty-eight minutes.

Admiral Rice let her go, knowing better than to offer even the most token protest to this. Instead, he looked back at the silhouette and tried without success to convince himself it wasn't his worst fear realized.

* * *

**1135 Hours GMT**

**Black Alpha Patrol Sector**

**Three Hours, Forty Minutes into CAP Eye-Spy**

**Twenty Minutes to Bingo Fuel**

"_Déjà vu _all over again, huh?" Greyhound called over the ship-to-ship, breaking the silence that normally stretched between them while in flight. Despite considerable effort on her part, Starbuck's command of Terran idiom was minimal at best. She recognized the phrase as French, at least part of it, but its exact meaning escaped her.

This was, unfortunately, an open secret amongst the Nuggets she'd trained over the last two years. It had become their subtle retaliation to the frequent and often richly deserved dressing downs she gave them to bombard her with as many clever jibes and slang words as they could safely get away with. Fortunately for them that was the extent of it. One _very_ ugly incident early on with a trio of washouts had taught them all that 'traditional' hazing pranks and practices weren't on the menu, ever.

Still Starbuck had to wonder if she'd been cutting her Nuggets too much or too little slack for it all. What in Hades name was so 'forbidden' about eating an apple anyway? Come to that, who this "First initial B, last name Otch" person they and others sometimes whispered about? The fact the Admiral and CO and XO all tolerated it all was the only reason she herself didn't demand answers more often.

"Whatever," was her only verbal reply, which evidentially her wingman took as a prompt for further conversation.

"I mean, seems like we were just here, doing this…"

"We _were_ just here, doing exactly this, Barker." Right then, all Starbuck did was recheck their coordinates, just for something to do. Greyhound's meaning hit her a moment later and it was all she could do to keep from laughing. Barker was one of the better pilots she'd come across, and damned if he didn't know how to get under her skin in a way…only one other ever had. Fortunately, years of flying alongside that someone else, who her mind steadfastly refused to refer to by name or call sign, had trained her to give as good as she got.

It didn't hurt that Greyhound was also easily baited when it came in-flight chatter. "No, I mean, we were here when we caught…wait a sec…"

Her chuckle gave it away. She thanked the Lords her wingman also had a decent sense of humor. "Got me again, boss."

"Don't call me 'boss'. Besides, no-one's telling you to chatter-box, are they?" She felt a surge of panic at Greyhound's silence. "Are they?" she repeated.

"Um…"

"Let me guess: Sausage bet you could stump me with some dumbass saying again." Call sign 'Sausage', one Lieutenant Curt LeMay, had been one of her earliest Nuggets and one of the first to lip off to her, hence her giving him with so suggestive a handle. Fortunately he'd snapped into line after and actually proved a decent enough pilot.

Greyhound began with the now-standard line of "I can neither confirm…"

"Nor deny that. Try again."

"Would you believe 'it's above my pay grade', quote unquote?"

"_That_ I'd believe, if it were true." She let that sink in for a moment then added "What was the pool this time?"

"Um…can I claim it's classified?"

"Depends. D'you wanna end up on double Saliva poop duty?" Saliva was a Miniature Boxer who was the ship's mascot who, unsurprisingly, embodied his name. Assignment to clean his litter box was also considered barely a step away from getting grounded in favor of laundry duty.

"Heaven forbid." Greyhound sounded as if he were actually debating it for another few seconds, then sighed and bowed to the inevitable. "Okay, but you didn't hear it from me…"

"On my six!" Starbuck practically screamed, simultaneously venting the thrusters under the nose of her Viper while accelerating so she flipped her bird in a full 270 degrees. As soon as she had her nose pointing in the six o'clock position, Starbuck hit her afterburners and shot like a missile toward the asteroid field beneath them. Greyhound quickly rolled his own plane about to get a visual on what had his wingman's suddenly willing to drain her engines. It didn't take more than a second to catch sight of the dark shape she was barreling toward.

"Confirmed. Bogey on our six. Moving to intercept."

"_Read you, Black Alpha."_ Greyhound barely heard the response as he was hitting his own afterburners to catch up with Starbuck. No easy task given the evasive maneuvers being engaged in right then; whoever this bogey was proved maneuverable as hell, particularly as it was fairly skimming the surface of the 'Belt and kicking up a fair amount of dust and debris in its wake. Even Starbuck was apparently having difficulty keeping up with it as a result, though Greyhound knew her well enough to know she was likely having the time of her life.

Or so he thought until he heard the Colonel's next bark over the comms.

"_Olympus_, Starbuck! Bogey identified as a Raptor-class scout. Repeat: _bogey is a Colonial Raptor!_ I need whatever band it's transmitting on and I need it now!" She paused for breath and growled "Frak! This one's slippery."

He interrupted her without a second though, the only other pilot in the Fleet to dare to do so. "_Olympus,_ Greyhound. I confirm bogey is a Raptor. Get us that transmission band!" He'd seen dozens upon dozens of technical drawings of the Raptor class, yet to see the genuine article in action, was something completely different. Only consummate professionalism kept him from freezing up completely.

That and Colonel Thrace's rather stern demand of "Greyhound! Get your ass down here and help me corral this…"

"_Black Alpha, Olympus Actual. We're chasing the band down now. Give us a few more seconds and keep the Raptor LOS. We're getting real-time feed here…."_

"I'm reading increased distortion," Starbuck reported, rolling to avoid a basketball-sized meteoroid the Raptor kicked up (more by design than accident, she suspected). "Probably spooling their FTL drive. Dammit, _Olympus_, I need that transmission band!"

"_We're just about there, Starbuck. Try…Five-one-eight-point-seven."_

"Switching to Band Five-one-eight-dot-seven now!" She quickly tapped her comms pad at her left, manually switching the wireless band to the appropriate setting. It was quicker this way and allowed _Olympus_ to listen in. Gods knew she could use a second set of ears right then.

"**Attention Colonial Raptor. This is Colonel Kara Thrace, call sign "Starbuck", formerly of the Battlestar _Galactica_." **She spoke in Colonial Standard, her tone even and calm despite the almost desperate energy she was putting into keeping her target in sight right then. "**I am ordering you to cut engines and respond. Repeating: this is Colonel Kara Thrace, Colonial Fleet ID number 19800408-Kappa-Alpha-Theta-2003, ordering you to cut engines and open communication."  
**  
As if in response to her, the Raptor peeled to the right at a sharp angle. Whoever the pilot was they were clearly practiced enough to fly with both maneuvering thrusters and engines in concert. There weren't many she could recall that accomplished and decided to take a risk.

"**Racetrack?** **Is that you flying that bird? Dammit, talk to me!" **She was practically shouting now as her onboard AEGIS and several other displays were going fuzzy, which meant the Raptor's FTL drive was still spooling. If it really was Racetrack - or, gods help them, _Athena -_ behind that stick…Kara swore she'd personally ram said stick so far up their backside…

The Raptor suddenly reduced speed, nearly causing Starbuck to careen into it. Sheer instinct had her cutting her own acceleration at the last second and rolling her Viper to the starboard to avoid a collision. Not that it mattered in the end. Starbuck couldn't stop the cry of surprise as the Raptor jumped away barely a meter from her wing.

Her howl of frustration echoed through the comms. Even the unflappable Greyhound couldn't help but wince.

* * *

**_Olympus _Command and Information Center (CIC)**

"Dammit!" the CO cursed aloud, his normal calm gone the same instant the Colonel's shout came over the speakers. He slapped a hand on Sorrenson's board and grit his teeth, hard. Admiral Rice was more restrained, although he did look more than a little put out.

The Specialist took his superior's anger as a prompt and began typing furiously into his terminal. "Uh, Raptor has jumped, Sirs. I'm afraid I can't track it further."

"Thank you, Specialist," the Admiral stated before the CO could say some more indelicate. "Notify Black Alpha to return to assigned band and send it to the main desk."

"Aye, Sir." Commander Avery-Hunter followed close behind Rice as they relocated to the main desk of the bridge. Once there, both picked up comms handsets in unison, though it was the Admiral who spoke first.

"Starbuck? This is Rice."

"_Go ahead, Sir."_

"What's your fuel?"

"_Main tanks are dry. E Tank is down to fifty, Sir."_

"Greyhound?"

"_E Tank at eighty, Sir."_

"Understood. Stand by." Rice cut the connection and looked over to the CO. "They're what, 475 klicks out? Options?"

"480-plus. Meaning Greyhound just might make it back with what he's got left. Starbuck?" He shook his head slowly. "No chance."

"Tow truck time?" The two shared a dry chuckle between them. "She will love that one."

"That's why you're the one wearing the Admiral's stars."

"I should get hazard pay for this," the Admiral muttered as he raised the handset to his chin again. The CO held his peace on that score, having already clicked his own handset over to an internal channel and was directing the deck crew to prep a pair of shuttles. "Black Alpha, Rice."

"_Acknowledged."_

"We calculate you're too far out for a return burn. We're launching a recovery tow for you both. Hold position under advised otherwise."

Greyhound responded first. "_Understood, Sir."_

"Starbuck?" the Admiral asked after a moment.

Another moment before the Colonel's subdued reply of "_Acknowledged, Sir. Tow truck en route. Will hold position until its arrival. Starbuck clear." _The Admiral might have had more to say if Sorrenson weren't signing for his attention right then. The CO noticed this as well and hurriedly closed his own line, quickly moving to the Specialist. The Admiral himself was only a step behind him.

Sorrenson didn't take his eyes from his terminal as he reported "Sirs, I've been picking up some increased modulation along the 500 Band again."

"Another Raptor?" asked the CO, studying the readouts before them.

"It...doesn't appear so, Sir. Its...well...all over the place. Like we're catching a sudden jump in signal traffic."

"Inter-ship communications?"

Sorrenson hesitated, frowning hard. "I can't tell. If it is, looks like there's a lot of chatter going on."

The CO looked over Lieutenant Samson's station. "Comms," he called out. "Link into the Specialist's monitor and load the translation package. I want..."

Whatever he might have said next was lost by the sudden blare of emergency klaxon that had only ever been heard in drills. Both the Admiral and CO looked over to the overhead AEGIS screens, where a new, much larger signal was now pulsing virtually on top of Black Alpha's position.

Starbuck's voice blared over the comms that same instant. "_Case ZULU!_ _Case ZULU! Cylon Basestar has jumped into zone! Repeat: Case ZULU! Cylon Basestar has jumped into zone and is launching Raiders! Initiating evasive maneuvers."_

Neither the Admiral nor ship's CO waited to hear more. The former remained where he was, eyes fixed on the AEGIS as he barked out "Officer of the Watch, rig for red. Ops, vector Black Wing to intercept. Sound General Quarters." He glanced back to the Comms Station. "Send emergency flash traffic to Fleet HQ, reporting Case ZULU."

His voice was nearly drowned out by the klaxon sirens and Samson's voice calmly-yet-urgently echoing through the air declaring "All hands to General Quarters. This is not a drill." The lighting throughout the Bridge changed to a light crimson.

Commander Avery-Hunter meanwhile was back at the main desk, barking his own orders into a handset. "Launch all alert wings. Gunnery crews to batteries." He took another look at the AEGIS and noted "Black Wing is five minutes from intercept, alert wings fifteen."

"I am aware," the Admiral noted flatly, both of them knowing denials wouldn't make a bit of difference to what was surely coming.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers in Part One.** **Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those wondering:

English dialogue is in "".

Colonial dialogue is in **bolded**.

_Italizied_ dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.

With enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Pilot" to see why.

**That all said, back to the Asteroid Belt…

* * *

**

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part Three

* * *

**

_For ten years, humanity dug and slowly uncovered what was buried._

_It was ancient, yet not. It was lettered in a language almost familiar to some._

_Inch by inch, system by system, the ship gave up secrets that humanity easily grasped._

_Humanity united, finally, enough to begin to reach beyond its own skies._

_Ten years later…_

**1145 Hours GMT**

**Black Alpha Patrol Sector**

**One minute and five seconds since contact with Case ZULU**

If not for the fact she was witnessing it all herself, Starbuck would never have believed how things played out next.

First she counted six Raiders, no more and no less. Under normal circumstances that alone would have had her expecting at least three more Basestars jumping into sight; she'd doubted the Toasters have even the vaguest concept of subtlety when it came to battle, especially given how they'd never been stingy when it came to launching Raiders and ordinance at a target.

But…just six Raiders…none of which had even opened fire yet _despite_ being in range for at least a full fifteen seconds? Downright bizarre.

What was even stranger still was the Basestar itself, which likewise had yet to fire a single shot or missile or do anything except just hang there.

Not that Starbuck had any intention of just hanging about herself. She'd already kicked her Viper 180-degrees and was prepared to gun it for the 'Belt in the likely vain hope she'd make it there _before_ any of the approaching Raiders could get a lock on her. This would take precious seconds as she'd shut her engines off cold once the Raptor had jumped; she knew it was a wasted effort as at least one of them had to have her in its sights by now.

So why the frak didn't they just fire? Her lips were moving without her permission, silently reciting the Prayer for the Dead, which abruptly ended when three of the Raiders zoomed past her at close quarters. Such close quarters in fact her Viper rolled a bit, buffeted by their engine exhausts. This however wasn't what caused her to go still in shock.

Rather, it was the sight of the paint scheme all three were sporting: solid white, with red trim stripes on both wings. The trio next executed a simultaneous roll-over that put them in a classic trident orientation as she'd used to teach Nuggets aboard the _Galactica_; a Raider holding position at the twelve, four, and eight o'clock positions not ten meters away from her. It was designed expressly to corral a target and keep them from peeling off. Starbuck stole a glance back toward Greyhound, who was at her own eleven o'clock and facing three Raiders of her own.

She clicked her comms open to _Olympus_, reporting "_Olympus, _Starbuck. Am facing three hostiles. Weapons are hot and I am prepared…"

The CO's voice broke in. "_Stand by, Starbuck. We're reading a broadband transmission from the ZULU. The translation package is chewing through it now."_

"Is it the same transmission band as we monitored on the Raptor?"

"_Yes."_

"Switching to band 518.7, Sirs. Prepare to record." Without waiting for permission, she reset her on-board setting, and quite nearly gagged at the words she heard next.

"…**_peating message: we are an advance party of a refugee fleet. We are _not _hostile and wish to open communications. A scout ship we deployed to this area…"_**

"No frakkin' way," Starbuck heard herself mutter, recognizing the voice immediately. She shook her head and opened her comms. "**Hotdog?** **Is that you?!"**

The voice on the other end paused for several seconds. "**_No way."_** It came out as a disbelieving whisper. "**_No godsbedamned way!_** **_Starbuck?!"_**

"**The one and only."** She couldn't, literally couldn't think of anything else to say.

Silence reigned for several more seconds. "**_Er, which one are you in?"_**

This elicited a bitter laugh from her. "**Like I'm gonna tell you. Convince me you're not some skin job toaster first."** The Raider facing her twelve o'clock sudden nudged itself forward, directly toward her Viper's nose. It stopped itself barely three meters, then rolled its own 'nose' upwards and gave Starbuck a clear view of what was painted on the underside of its wings.

**Χότ-** under the left, **Ντόγκ** under the right.

"**Stand by."** Was all she said as she quickly switched back to her assigned wireless frequency. "_Olympus_ Actual, Starbuck. Are you receiving?"

"_We are. What the hell are we looking at?"_

"Colonial alphabet, Sir. The left translates to 'hot', the right to 'dog'. Stand by, _Olympus._" She took a breath and switched her wireless settings again. "**That's a start. Now convince me to not put a hundred HE rounds into your belly."**

"**_How?"_**

Gods help her but that one word nearly had her convinced all by itself. It caught all the earnest helplessness she'd always associated with Brendan Costanza. She nevertheless forced her voice to work. "**How'd you get your call sign? That'd be a start."**

"**_You gave it to me, Cap. First day of flight school after you did your whole 'Pilots call me Starbuck, you may refer to me as God' routine. Which was pretty frakkin' blasphemous of you."_**

Starbuck bit her lip and tried again. "**How long did you last in the last 'dance' we had?"**

"**_Thirty seconds, after which you pounded me into the mat. I'm still pissed 'caused I missed the knock-down you and the Major had after that."_**

It took all her willpower to keep her peace from that, and instead asked "**How about how I beat you at the last Triad game we played?"**

"**_You didn't beat me, Cap. You were holding two on a run, I was holding three. The only reason you 'won' was because you bluffed me into folding early."_** There was a trace of impatience to the voice…to Hotdog's voice now. "**_How about you do some convincing yourself, huh? Last anyone saw of you…stand by."_**

The comms went dead and Starbuck again looked to her wingman, who was holding his place at her eleven. She didn't doubt he'd been listening to everything as closely as _Olympus_, likely understanding most of what was being said thanks to his linguistic background, or that he'd open fire at the smallest provocation. She had a hundred or so more questions for Hotdog, but those died when a completely new voice came over the wireless.

"**_This is Commander Saul Tigh, commanding officer of the Colonial Battlestar _Nemesis_. I am addressing the…person claiming to be Kara Thrace, Colonial Fleet number 19800408-Kappa-Alpha-Theta-2003."_** Starbuck felt her head go light, having completely lost the ability to breath. The voice continued on, an all-too familiar threat to it now. "**_You _will _identify yourself to my satisfaction or I _will _order my planes to blast you out of the frakking sky for soiling the memory of an officer I knew and respected."_**

The laugh was out her throat and past her lips before she could stop it. "**Since when did you ever 'respect' me, _Colonel_? When you threw the card table at me after I slapped down full colors and showed everyone what a lousy Triad player you were…or…or when you kicked me out of a chair and told me I was, quote, 'a malcontent and a cancer and you won't have me on your ship' unquote?!"** The first was a scene that was almost legend within the Fleet, but the second? She'd thought that one up on the spot and only three people had been present at the incident in question. It was therefore long odds anyone but those two would know know it _hadn't_ been Tigh who had done or said any of that.

The voice on the other end let out a shaking breath that might have been a sob. "**_You bitch! You know_ I _didn't say that…_"**

More words spilled out of her, wholly independent of reason or good sense. "**In fact, I want confirmation it's really you, _Sir._ Like I'm going to believe the Old Man would put _you_ in charge of anything more important than a…a frakkin' Triad game."**

"**_Is it really you?"_ **It was a question and whisper and prayer all in one.

Starbuck found herself clasping her hands together, both shaking so hard she didn't trust them anywhere near her instruments. "**If you don't believe me, go ahead and tell Constanza and others to shoot me down right now. I'll fly back over the River Styx itself and show you…"**

"**_Is it you?!"_** This was shouted, with the sort of desperation she'd only heard once before. It was all the proof she needed. Her eyes stung now, fixed as they were on the hovering bulk overhead.

"**It's me, Sir."** She couldn't more than whisper it. "**It's really me."** Her vision was getting cloudy now, leaving her wondering if it wasn't all a dream of some sort, or perhaps the Basestar would jump away any second. But it didn't.

She tasted the tears streaking her cheeks.

And she believed.

Her comms flashed red with a text message a moment later. Switch to secure band for Olympus Actual. Starbuck quickly sniffed and blinked her eyes clear, saying into her comms "Standby, _Nemesis_ Actual." She then punched into a sliver of the wireless band that only eight people in the entire Fleet could access. "_Olympus_ Actual, Starbuck." She was a bit shocked at how calm her voice was right then; certainly the rest of her was anything but. Her hands certainly weren't getting any steadier. She hadn't even noticed she'd already begun referring to the Basestar by its supposed name.

It was Admiral Rice who responded. "_What's your analysis, Colonel?"_ he asked, the question needing no elaboration.

"I'm…eighty-five percent convinced, Sir."

"_Only that much?"_ She was lying and they both knew it; it was closer to ninety-nine-point-nine-to-infinity. But that high couldn't be justified rationally, and she wouldn't even try.

Aloud she said "That's as far as I'm willing to go _until_ I see them with my own eyes." The hint couldn't have been heavier or dropped more clearly. The Admiral took a moment to chew it over before responding.

"_We're prepping a mini-jump so we're within cannon-range. We've directed Greyhound to take over for you there. I want you back aboard before we make any further move."_

"Acknowledged. Sir? Permission to advise _Nemesis_ Actual to…behave."

"_Granted._ _We'll continue to monitor your communications."_

"Understood. Starbuck clear." She switched back reset to 518.7 and spoke in Colonial Standard. "_Nemesis_ Actual, Starbuck."

Tigh's voice responded immediately. "_Go ahead, Captain."_

She didn't bother to correct her rank. There was something perversely reassuring at such casual disrespect coming from Tigh's voice. "**Be advised I have been ordered by my commanding officer to return to my ship. My squadron is being reinforced and will keep you in sight, with orders to respond with maximum intensity to any provocation. You'd best pull your planes back and keep your powder dry."**

"**_We'll take it under advisement, Captain."_**

"**Continue to monitor this band setting for further communications. Starbuck clear."**

"**_Acknowledged._** **_Nemesis Actual, clear."_ **

Kara retook her instruments, waiting until Hotdog and his two wingmen pulled away before firing her engines fully. She spared a last look upwards confirmed the Raiders trio that had been facing off Greyhound had likewise pulled away and her wingman was linking up with the rest of Black Wing. Greyhound in fact went so far as to 'wiggle' his wings towards her in the now traditional manner of non-broadcast farewells between pilots as he reoriented his plane to face the _Nemesis._

Starbuck refused to allow herself to dwell further on what she might be leaving her squadron to, concentrating instead on keeping her Viper's course steady enough as she plunged through the 'Belt and followed the transponder signal that would lead her back to _Olympus._ Needless to say, it was an uphill struggle from start to finish.

* * *

**1155 Hours GMT**

**Olympus** **CIC**

**Eleven minutes since contact with Case ZULU**

Starbuck, still in flight suit, marched into the CIC flanked by three Marines in full armor with Colonel Olympias Callisto in the lead. Callisto was the ship's XO and had been given expressed orders from Rice to escort the CCAW from her Viper and ensure nothing and no-one was to get within a dozen feet of her. The XO had on that score effectively ordered the corridor from the landing deck clear through to CIC cleared and sealed, and all the Marines were all carrying live rounds. Not that anyone seriously thought Starbuck was in any danger aboard the Battlestar itself, her reputation alone was usually deterrent enough. With Case ZULU still sounding however, her position was suddenly was suddenly elevated to the level of "irreplaceable".

The Bridge was still lit in red and staffed as fully as she'd ever seen it. It gave her a strange sense of _deja_ _vu_, reminding her vaguely of her being fetched out of hack and brought before the Old Man to learn the Cylons were attacking. The fact her longtime headache of an XO was nowhere in sight right then didn't diminish the surreal state of everything right then. Both the Admiral and CO were standing by the central desk, the former's eyes still on the main AEGIS display and the other nodding and holding a wireless headset close to his ear.

"Sirs?" she asked, standing at 'parade rest' so they wouldn't see how unsteady her hands still were.

"Colonel," the Admiral nodded, still staring at the AEGIS.

Starbuck turned to the Commander for a moment. "Sir? Lieutenant Mahn?"

Commander Avery-Hunter set down the wireless. "She relocated to Able as soon as we went to General Quarters."

"Thank you, Sir."

The CO nodded and motioned her to approach the central desk just as the Admiral turned from the overhead displays. Both Starbuck and the XO did so, allowing the four of them to face one another.

"Colonel Thrace, your thoughts?" Admiral Rice asked. Starbuck herself had to take a breath before trying to answer.

"They didn't shoot at Greyhound or me, and the ones I spoke with over the wireless...they knew things that..."

"But you remain unconvinced?" asked the XO, to which Starbuck could only shrug.

"Until I see them with my own eyes? Not sure I'd believe it if the Old Man himself recounted every conversation we'd ever had."

"Well we can't keep sitting here under the 'Belt and pray Black, Red and Gold Wings will be enough to keep this...thing...at bay." The CO sounded frustrated, an image reinforced by his rubbing the back of his neck, hard.

"Admiral?" Starbuck asked. "I'd advise that at the very least we contact the _Nemesis _and consider sending a contact team over." She took another breath and pressed on. "It has been over ten minutes since our last communication. If it is Saul Tigh out there, he's got to be getting nervous by now."

"Which means?"

"At the very least? He'll start programming firing solutions into his ship's cannons and warm up more planes to secure his sky."

"Will he launch an attack of any sort?"

"Not unless directly provoked for the moment. But we leave it much longer and he may just itch his trigger finger, just on principle."

The Admiral observed this short exchange carefully, and then asked, "Colonel Thrace? Who would you recommend for the contact team?"

"I...that's your call, Sir. But whoever it is, they should have a command of Colonial Standard to be able to communicate clearly _and have _sufficient authority to reassure him we aren't hostile ourselves."

The XO sniffed. "Makes for a pretty short list, Colonel."

Starbuck could only shrug. "No argument there."

The Admiral signed over to the main comms station. "Mr. Samson, open a secure line to Case ZULU on the established band and patch it through to the desk here. Make sure the translation package and recorders are running." He picked up the handset nearest him and nodded for the others to do the same. "Colonel Thrace, will you do the honors please?"

"That should be your privilege, Sir."

"This isn't about privilege, Thrace. This is about making damned sure we don't spook your old XO into doing something stupid."

"Understood, Sir. I'll do my best to avoid...provoking him."

"From what you've told us? That'll be a first." There was no rancor or criticism in the Admiral's words. It even drew a dry chuckle from the normally humorless XO.

Lieutenant Samson called over, "Line open and live, Admiral."

Rice nodded to Starbuck, who cleared her throat and raised her handset to her lips. "**_Nemesis _Actual, Starbuck. Repeat: _Nemesis _Actual, this is Colonel Kara Thrace. Please respond."**

A moment of silence stretched into eternity, but the moment ended.

"**_Starbuck, _Nemesis _Actual. We read you, Captain."_**

"**I am aboard my ship and with my commanding officers."**

The Admiral nodded, silently instructing Starbuck to pause, who acknowledged with a nod of her own. The Admiral then spoke himself in his passable Colonial. "**This is Admiral Theodore Rice of the Terran Defense Fleet. Who am I speaking to?"**

"**_This is Commander Saul Tigh, commanding officer of the Colonial Battlestar _Nemesis_. Is Captain Thrace there with you?"_**

"**Colonel Thrace is an officer under my command, sir, and has earned by respect. I expect her to be treated accordingly."** Another short silence followed this, though far shorter and infinitely more tense than before. When Tigh's voice returned, it sounded slightly mollified, if only slightly so.

"**_I apologize, Admiral. Cap...Colonel Thrace was formerly under my command, as I'm sure you've been made aware."_**

"**We are. Enough said there, eh?"**

"**_Exactly.. May I ask what your intentions towards us are?"_**

"**That would our question to you."**

"**_Has...Colonel Thrace explained our situation to you?"_**

Starbuck spoke up almost immediately. "**I have provided a general picture to them..."**

Only to have the Admiral override her a second later. "**She has explained in as much detail as she was able. I give you my word she has at _no_ time been under any manner of duress nor has she compromised your fleet's operational security."** A meaningful look silenced an impending interruption from the officer under discussion.

"**_You are therefore aware we are refugees seeking safe haven, correct?"_**

"**We are. May I suggest this is a conversation better conducted face-to-face?"**

"**_I was about to suggest precisely that."_**

"**Acknowledged.** **Please stand by while I discuss this with my command staff."** The Admiral lowered his handset and waited until the CO, XO and CCAW did the same. He signaled for Samson to mute the connection and gave it another few seconds before speaking. "Colonel?"

Starbuck had to take a few extra breaths herself before trying to answer. "If it is Tigh, he's a damn slight more mellow than I remember him."

"Still reserving judgment?"

"Absolutely."

"Fair enough," the Admiral nodded. "Commander?"

"Sir?"

"Have one of the Sirkorskis prepped. I want it outfitted for Case MOSES."

"External containment and chromatographs?"

"The works," the Admiral nodded.

"How many aboard?" asked the XO.

"Five. Myself, Major Taylor, two of his men." He paused for a breath, and then concluded "And Colonel Thrace."

"Is that wise, Sir?" the XO asked after a short breath of her own. "If we're still at ZULU, shouldn't Colonel Thrace be the last person allowed in the field?"

"I agree, Admiral," stated the CO.

"And normally I'd agree, but as we're facing something...different..." He paused and looked Starbuck straight in the eye. "If this is some trick by the toasters, you're likely the only one who'll catch it. Otherwise I'd have you in Able right now."

"Understood, Sir." Her tone was the cool, professional sort she reserved for orders and directives she would fight against to the end of time. The others gave this a pass and concentrated on other matters. The Admiral signed to Samson to re-open the comms.

"**_Nemesis _Actual, Admiral Rice."**

"**_Go ahead, Admiral."_**

"**We will be dispatching a contact team to your ship shortly. Please be advised...one moment please. Colonel Thrace?"**

Starbuck spoke into her own handset. "**Yes, Sir.** **_Nemesis_ Actual, be advised the Terrans had suffered through a global pandemic approximately fifty years ago. They...we...will be coming aboard outfitted to attempt to minimize the possibility of infection of any sort."** There was a short span of silence at this news, though whether it was of the pandemic or her tacit admission she herself would be coming over was impossible to say.

"**_Understood, Colonel._** **_Will any...special facilities be required?"_**

"**Negative, Commander. We're rather hoping this will prove a non-issue. The best thing you can do is provide us an isolated hanger bay to land in. We can take it from there."**

"**_Understood, Colonel._** **_Contact us once you are underway. Nemesis clear."_**

"**Rice clear."** The Admiral settled the handset back unto its cradle and asked the CO "What's our clock?"

The Commander was quickly muttering into his own handset, nodding as he spoke, evidentially bringing his conversation to a quick end. "Owl 71 will be outfitted and prepped for flight in twenty," he reports.

The XO put down her own handset and added, "Major Taylor and his troops will be waiting for you in Quarantine One. We'll have the route to Launch Four clean by then."

"Let's be about this, officers. Colonel Thrace, you're with me."

"Sir." Starbuck gave them a salute wholly on autopilot, overly sharp and entirely lacking her usual undercurrent. She trailed after the Admiral as he quit the CIC, her steps likewise moving wholly without any hint of swagger.

"Man, is she spooked," the XO breathed quietly as the CCAW departed.

The CO nodded. "What do you expect? She likely wrote off any chance of a reunion the day after she woke up at Nellis." He looked to the main AEGIS display. "Have Silver Wing loaded into tubes for escort."

"Aye-aye, Sir."

* * *

**1247 Hours GMT**

**Terran** **Scout Owl 71, en route to Case ZULU**

**Fifty-two minutes since first contact**

Starbuck sat the controls of the scout shuttle, feeling less than agile in her Level 4 Biohazard gear. She knew intellectually there shouldn't have been any reason for this, given the sealed and self-contained one-piece suit wasn't that much different from her normal flight suit. It was more what it symbolized, she supposed, though more complicated than simple fear of past mistakes.

There were times when she found the irony of her present circumstances overwhelming. Here she was, an unwitting ambassador to her people's nominal cousins, yet often all she'd seemed to bring them was panic and fear of the very stars they were trying so hard to reach. She was privately grateful for the multitude of work and responsibilities the Terrans had seen fit to provide her. It kept her focused on familiar things rather than try duties for which she had no skill set whatsoever. Kara Thrace was a lot of things, but a diplomat and Senior Brass? That was a laugh.

So here she was, piloting a small shuttle with her commanding Flag officer and three Marines, straight into the mouth of the closest equivalent to Tartarus's Forge to be found this side of the River Styx. She wasn't sure which was more surprising to her, how steady her hands were, or how calm she felt through all this. True, she'd only heard two familiar voices so far which had said all the right things. This in itself couldn't prove anything other than that both Costanza and Tigh might have been skin jobs and were back with their own people now.

Except she _knew_ that wasn't the case. _Knew_ it as surely as if Apollo and Artemis themselves had stepped forward and offered the knowledge.

She kept the shuttle's course steady as it broke up through the 'Belt, the six Vipers of Silver Wing matching speed and surrounding them in escort, the slow rotating form of _Nemesis _immediately coming into view. It was strange, she thought, to look upon something she'd only ever associated with death and destruction and yet feel no fear. If anything, Starbuck found herself having to consciously restrain herself from pushing the shuttle's thrusters to full burn and get this over with all the faster.

The comms board lit up a moment later, prompting her to open the channel. An unfamiliar voice echoed in her helmet sayi**ng **"_Approaching shuttle, _Nemesis _Aerospace Control."_

"**_Nemesis_ Control, Starbuck. Go ahead."**

"**_Continue on your present heading and speed. Landing Bay One has been cleared for your party."_**

"**Acknowledged, _Nemesis_ Control.** **I may need some directions as I am unfamiliar with your internal configuration."**

"**_Understood, Colonel._** **_Will advise course and heading correction as needed."_**

"**Thank you."** Starbuck turned around and gave a thumbs-up to the Admiral and Major Taylor, who like herself were in Level 4 gear. The Admiral nodded to this but said nothing further.

The rest of the short journey passed in comparative silence, _Nemesis _Control providing only occasional and small corrections to their heading. Soon the Basestar loomed large before them, its main launch bay doors visibly opening to admit them into the massive spoke upon which the ship rotated. She made it a point to ignore the quintet of white-painted Raiders that were holding station around them.

"**_Cut speed by one-point-five and adjust heading angle by 20 degrees below plane."_**

"**Acknowledged, _Nemesis _Control: cutting speed and adjusting angle."** Starbuck managed not to start when she felt the Admiral's hand on her shoulder. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, leaning forward and watching their approach attentively. The bay doors were now fully open, revealing multiple ramps leading into the ship. "**Do I have to guess which ramp to take, _Nemesis _Control?"**

"**_Stand by, Colonel."_** The running lights set into the lowest of the group suddenly sparked to life. "**_Follow the lit ramp and cut engines at fifty meters."_**

"**Fifty meters and cut engines, understood. Starbuck clear." **She quickly cut the connection and reset the wireless to the _Olympus_. "_Olympus_ Actual, Starbuck."

"_Reading you, Colonel," _Commander Avery-Hunter replied.

"We are being guided into _Nemesis_. Will keep this line open and attempt contact as soon as we've landed."

"_Understood, Colonel._ _Be safe."_

Starbuck could only chuck cynically at this as she guided the shuttle forward. The bay doors remained open behind them. Even so, there were no lights beyond those on the ramp underneath them, quickly leaving them to be swallowed by the darkness within.

When the shuttle was fully within the landing bay, only then did the bay doors close behind them, rattling shut silently in the vacuum of space.

TBC….

* * *

Note: the words **Χότ-Ντόγκ** pronounced roughly as **Hoot-Stoyok) **is Modern Greek for "hotdog", as translated at 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those still wondering:

English dialogue is in "".

Colonial dialogue is **bolded.**

_Italicized_ dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.

With enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Pilot" to see why.

**That all said, back to work…

* * *

**

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part Four

* * *

**

_That which was buried was brought to light, four thousand years of secrets revealed to all._

_Humanity learned, was humbled, and matured with the new knowledge. Yet question remained._

_Who were these travelers? Had they come in peace? Had they arrived by accident or design?_

_For eighteen years, humanity pondered these enigmas, almost despairing that the answers would never be known._

_Then one arrived who could answer those __questions__, landing upon the earth like a fiery angel. _

_Two years later…

* * *

_

**Two hours earlier…**

**1149 Hours GMT**

**Secure Command Center 'Babel'**

**10 miles beneath The Octagon**

Only a select few knew of the existence of 'Babel', its construction having been carried out in the strictest secrecy and its purpose almost too terrible to seriously contemplate.

Undersecretary Cornwell and his aide stepped out of the high-speed elevator that delivered them to it. Captain Marcel quickly hurried over to his assigned workstation and plugged in his wireless pad, which immediately began dumping communiqués and reports to the terminal there.

"_Asgard _and _Bouhuchan_ both report as 'Alert Received' and are redeploying. Ares and Darkside Stations are at full alert."

"Very well," Cornwell acknowledged as he took his own workstation. "Civilian alerts go out?"

"Screen is in effect, Sir. Uh, we're calling 'unscheduled Fleet drills' and advising they withdraw to Mars orbit." There was a urgent ping rang from his desk. "The Secretary General is on the blue line, Sir."

Cornwell picked up the old-fashioned looking telephone and said "Ma'am, Admiral Rice aboard the _Olympus_ has issued a Case ZULU. No, Ma'am, I don't have any further data. I'd nevertheless advise you relocate to 'Babylon'. Yes, Ma'am. Thank you." He set the phone back down and looked at the now-lit strategic display taking up the wall before him, fighting all the while to keep his hands from shaking more.

He managed, somehow, to act normally as the rest of the Contingency Staff arrived and hustled to their assigned stations. For the next hour he simply tuned out the various status reports and other background noise, eyes intent upon the screen before them all. Only when Marcel approached him directly did he look up again.

"Flash traffic from _Olympus_, Sir." Cornwell took the sheet from his aide and read it silently. Without looking up from the paper he reached over for the blue phone and told Marcel "Modify alert status to ZULU-Beta."

"Yes, Sir." Marcel quickly moved away as Cornwell opened a line to the only other Secure Command Facility on-line right then.

"This is Babel; I need to speak with the Secretary General." He waited a beat. "Ma'am, I'm modifying the alert status as of…1258 hours…no, ma'am, downgrading it. Yes. There's been an unusual…development."

* * *

**1315 Hours GMT**

**Owl 71, inside Battlestar **_**Nemesis**_

No sooner had Owl 71 settled to the floor of the landing bay and Starbuck cut the engines than the Admiral was up and moving. "Major, Corporal , fire up the external chromatographs and get the standard mixes."

"Aye-aye, Sir. C'mon, Lewis." Major Zachary Taylor, Fleet Marine Corps and CO of the detachment aboard the _Olympus_ unfolded his rock solid bulk from his chair and moved to the back with Corporal Anton Lewis, the detachment's second-line medic. Both men had the most technical experience with the equipment in question and so were natural choices.

"Sergeant Gaurlund, make sure the portables are in working order."

"Yes, Sir," saluted the remaining Marine, a compact engineer from Norway, as he swiveled his chair about and opened a secured footlocker beside him.

The Admiral turned to Starbuck next and nodded to her. The Colonel simply clicked over the comms station and said "_Olympus _Actual, Starbuck." When there was no immediate response, she tried again. "_Olympus _Actual, this is Starbuck. Please respond." More silence, far more this time.

The comms suddenly sputtered to life. _"Starbuck, _Olympus _Actual. Reading you," _was the static-obscured response.

"Acknowledged, _Olympus _Actual. Rome along the Tiger."

"_Babylon along the Euphrates." _Both the Admiral and Starbuck visibly relaxed at this, followed quickly by the others. _"Sorry for the delay, Starbuck. Had to boost the signal." _The CO's voice

"Understood. We're running standard protocol for MOSES contact. Stand by for further reports."

"_Noted. _Olympus _Actual clear." _The line didn't go dead and Starbuck quickly set the comms to passive, allowing _Olympus _to continue receiving transmissions across the wireless bands regardless of settings. She then reset the direct band to the one established for _Nemesis. __**Nemesis **_**Control, Starbuck. Please respond.**

"_**Starbuck, **_**Nemesis**_** Actual."**_

"**We've landed in the designated area and are running initial environmental tests. Do we have atmosphere here?"**

"_**Affirmative, Cap…Colonel. You should have standard pressure in about ten more seconds."**_

"**Understood, Actual. Stand by for Admiral Rice."** She moved aside to allow the Admiral access to the comms. "Sir?"

Rice leaned in and spoke to the raised microphone. **"Commander Tigh?"**

"_**Admiral."**_

"**Our contact protocols mandate one hour's isolation aboard our shuttle while external sensors test your atmosphere. We will need to keep our protective gear on for another 12 hours beyond that to ensure there is no delayed reactions."**

"_**Understood, Admiral. Shall I order my people to keep their distance?"**_

"**Absolutely not, Commander. In fact the more of your crew we can come into contact with, the better we can be certain there won't be any cross-contamination."**

"_**You understand I'll have to discuss this with my command staff and CMO."**_

"**Certainly, Sir. Please keep us apprised."**

While the Admiral was carrying on with the other party, Starbuck kept herself staring straight ahead and tuning everything else out. It was the only way she could keep herself from reacting to Leoben's…appearance…at her right elbow.

Even through her helmet, she could hear him perfectly. "Ready for this?" There was no taunting or sour humor in his words, only genuine caring and concern. She hated him all the more for it. Intellectually she knew this wasn't the same Leoben who had tormented her on New Caprica or torn her soul open before that on _Galactica_; he'd admitted as much and proven it when he'd guiding her into the maelstrom that had deposited her here.

But the voice and face alone where enough to still put her on edge. It was likely that would never change, no matter how many times he stepped in to keep her from one mistake or another. And so she'd ignored him, or tried to at any rate.

"You can't admit this is isn't exciting for you." Leoben grinned slightly. "You get to lord it over everyone here…"

"That's not it…" She immediately bit her tongue, terrified one of the others overheard her.

Evidentially, the Admiral had. "Colonel? Anything wrong?"

"No, Sir! Sorry, it's just…" She trailed off, realizing Leoben as still watching her with a single raised eyebrow. "Just…anxious here."

The Admiral unknowingly mirrored the smile Leoben was giving her when he replied "I know the feeling."

"I doubt it," Starbuck muttered, low enough not to be caught this time.

Leoben apparently had. "He does care about you, you know? A great deal in fact. Perhaps you could try trusting him a little here."

This merely caused Starbuck to twist quickly in her seat, intent upon giving this apparition a true taste of Tartarus, only to find herself staring at empty space. "Colonel?" The Admiral sounded truly concerned now.

Starbuck made a show of leaning forward and gazing into the emptiness beyond the cockpit. "I thought…it's nothing, Sir. Thought I saw something out there…" She let herself fall back into the chair and forced a chuckle. "Maybe I'm getting…claustrophobic in here." The word was clumsy in her mouth, as so many other large words seemed to be.

The Admiral stared at her for a long moment, and then called over his shoulder. "Lewis?"

"Sir?"

"What's the air like out there?"

"So clean it's practically stale. The external sniffers haven't detected anything more exotic than a few whiffs of methane and helium, an' no negative mixes evidenced."

"Recommend we break seal on Phase One?"

"Your call, Sir."

The Admiral threw a mock glare at Taylor. "You Marine wimps," he growled.

"We just respect the chain of command, Sir," was the stockier man's reply with a one-shoulder shrug.

"Since when, jarhead?" No-one reacted to this exchange, it being well known Rice and Taylor had come up through the ranks together and were old friends. "Colonel, patch us back to _Olympus."_

"Aye, Sir. Done."

"_Olympus_ Actual, Rice."

"_Go ahead, Admiral."_

"I'm making a command decision to terminate Phase One Quarantine at 1341 hours GMT. Confirm this."

"_Confirmed, Admiral. Phase One Quarantine terminated on field command authority at 1341 GMT." _Commander Avery-Hunter did not sound the least bit pleased with this news. _"I'd like to note my protest against this course of action for the record, Sir."_

"Duly noted. Rice clear."

"_Olympus clear."_ The line cut so suddenly the Admiral and Starbuck both couldn't help but wince at the unvoiced reprimand.

"This is why you never piss off a Welshman," the Admiral noted sagely as Starbuck reset the comms

"I thought the Commander was from England."

"Exactly." Pleased to see the Colonel was momentarily distracted, the Admiral stabbed the comms and announced, "_**Nemesis **_**Actual, be advised: we are confident there is no immediate threat of contamination and ****we ****will be disembarking within the next five minutes."**

"_**Confirmed message. Disembarkation in five minutes, mark. Nemesis Actual clear."**_

The Admiral stood and turned to face the rest of them. "Let's be about this, officers." He offered a hand to Starbuck to assist her in standing. The Colonel looked too shocked by her superior's decision to offer protest or refuse.

* * *

**1341 Hours GMT**

It should have been a great moment, with pomp and ceremony to mark it for history.

Instead, like any truly great moment, it was marked only with the quiet hiss of a shuttle's door and the footfalls of booted feet on the deck plates. The five occupants of the Terran shuttle exited their vehicle without a word passing between them all. The only illumination came from the small flashlights mounted on their suits. These offered almost no illumination to their surroundings.

Each of them was loaded for bear, carrying side arms, web gear and portable sniffers. The three Marines also carried high powered assault rifles, each loaded with explosive rounds in the event this all did turn out to be a trap.

No sooner were they all clear of the ship then, without warning, the landing bay was flooded with harsh lighting from far above. Taylor and his men moved quickly to defensive positions around the Admiral and Starbuck, both of whom drew their own side arms. No targets of either flesh or metal appeared however. The only sign the cavernous landing bay was even used was handful of Raiders that were parked along the wall near them, their exteriors all painted a pristine white with blue trim and with Colonial lettering stenciled on their wings. Rice made a mental note to ask Starbuck for a translation for each later. More interestingly, there were two Colonial Raptors parked against the opposite wall, neither looking the worse for wear.

Major Taylor abruptly called out "Lewis? Guarland?"

"Clear," Lewis replied, equally loudly.

"Clear," Guarland echoed.

"Admiral? Colonel?" was Taylor's next call.

"Clear," each of them called out in turn. The Admiral kept his eyes forward but asked over his shoulder "Ideas, Colonel?"

Starbuck swallowed hard and answered "Probably trying to spook us, Sir."

Rice snorted. "It's working."

At that moment a hatchway barely ten meters away from them opened with a dull 'clank' that echoed off the otherwise bare walls like a cannon shot. A single Colonial officer stepped into sight a moment later, alone and apparently unarmed. Taylor and Rice kept their weapons trained on the approaching figure, both subtly moving to cover Starbuck.

The Colonial didn't seem bothered by this, marching forward to stop a good dozen paces from them. She stood there for several beats, observing them as carefully as they did her. Her uniform looked a tad careworn and carried Captains pips on the collar and pilots wings on the breast. She momentarily reminded Rice of the Colonel's aide back on _Olympus, _between her exotic beauty and the air of authority the officer she carried herself with.

Such thoughts were immediately dashed when the Colonial snapped a sharp salute towards them, but said nothing.

Rice as ever took the lead, holstering his weapon and offering a salute of his own. **"Admiral Theodore Rice, Terran Defense Fleet,"** he stated in Colonial with as much authority as he could muster.

"**Captain Sharon Agathon. Operations Officer, Battlestar **_**Nemesis.**_**"**

Rice felt Starbuck, who was still facing the opposite direction at his back, physically tense at hearing this. Rice recognized the name, recalling it from one of the countless debriefings from her. The significance however escaped him at that moment. He instead acted on auto-pilot and asked his rapidly-practiced Colonial, **"Request permission to come aboard, Captain."**

"**Granted, Sir. If you'll follow me, I'm to escort you and your party to our Command Deck." **She didn't wait for any acknowledgment from them, simply turning on her heel and marching back to the hatchway.

Rice didn't hesitate in issuing his own orders. "Shoulder arms. Colonel, you're with me. Taylor, the rest of you fall in line on the six." He then moved to catch up with their nominal guide, the others pulled along like froth in the wake of a ship. Once Starbuck was at his side, he leaned over and murmured "You have the party favor?"

"Right in hand, Sir." If their guide or the others overheard them, none gave any sign. They all marched on through brightly lit corridors that quickly blended into one another. What few crewmembers they encountered quickly moved out of their way, eyeing the lumbering quintet warily but otherwise keeping their peace.

The Admiral ignored it all in favor of keeping a closer eye on Starbuck's own reactions. She was tense to be sure, but it wasn't out of hostility or fear. He suspected it was more likely plain outright confusion, which he couldn't blame her for. The indirect but harsh glare of the lighting, the wide-yet-seemingly endless corridors, the scant signs of habitation or use, all of it lent a surreal quality to their journey. Doubtless Taylor and company were feeling twitchy from it all.

At some point they entered a larger far chamber that by coincidence or design was a rough approximation of the CIC on _Olympus_, albeit in more ad-hoc and slapped together fashion. Half the consoles were partially dismantled, the rest little more than exposed frames with wiring and crystalline filaments spilling out of them. Individuals in drab green fatigues, many looking too young) for such uniforms and none looking alike, staffed many of the consoles.

Rice felt a momentary, cold stab of paranoia run through him right then. Starbuck had been emphatic she knew of only twelve models of human form Cylons, all of which apparently 'evolved' in just a single human generation. How long would it have taken them to 'evolve' more, especially if the toasters knew most of the existing models were blown in one way or another? He could only thank the Almighty he'd had foresight enough to give Thrace the _party favor_ before they'd left _Olympus._ He likewise prayed to any deity that might be listening it wouldn't be needed.

The otherwise empty center of the room was dominated by an oversized desk that appeared one part planning desk and one part wrought iron monstrosity. Two men in dress blues stood there, both with their backs to the new arrivals. Their guide came to attention and called out** "The contact party, Commander." **

The two men turned at slightly different speeds to gaze at them. Rice felt Starbuck stiffen again at the sight of them. The taller and younger of the pair reminded Rice of many of the ruby players he'd faced off against over the years: large and muscular, but carrying himself with a grace and confidence that seemed to belay his bulk. The Admiral noted how his pale eyes seemed to zero in on Starbuck while his expression remained completely neutral.

Rice turned his attention to the slightly shorter figure beside him, trying to reconcile the description Thrace had spent weeks relating with the living subject. The man was a bit taller and bulkier than Rice had come to expect. The plastic eye patch was anything but decorative against the weathered and lined face under it. What was most striking was the authority and bearing the older man presented, which struck the Admiral at odds with the image Starbuck had always imparted.

The man in question gave them all a single look, and then boomed **"Visiting officers on the Bridge."** The crewmembers, and Starbuck, all straightened to attention and offered salutes better left to the parade ground. Rice and the others followed suit after a few seconds. Both sides regarded the other warily for a few beats more in silence.

It was Admiral Rice who lowered his hand first, followed almost immediately by all others present. He then boldly took a step forward; eyes fixed expressly on Tigh, and extended the same hand towards the Colonial officer. **"Commander Tigh?" **he offered.

The Colonial mirrored the action, clasping the offered hand in his own and replied, **"Admiral Rice. This is…an honor, Sir."**

"**The honor is mine, Commander."**

Neither man moved, both knowing the importance of this moment and unwilling to break it. By some unspoken agreement, they did so as one and each took a step back. There was no protocol to direct what was to happen next. Both men knew this as well.

It was one of the sniffers softly chiming that broke the uncertain silence. "Air's clean, Sir," Lewis murmured aloud.

This caused Tigh to frown even harder. **"What was that?"** he asked his opposite number.

The Admiral quickly cleared his throat and explained **"Our equipment is sampling and testing the air for anything that might prove contagious to us. Corporal Lewis was simply reporting an 'all clear'."**

"**I hope you aren't suggesting we're out to deliberately poison you all."** The momentary quirk in Tigh's mouth belayed his tone. Admiral Rice managed to keep his own tone commendably serious.

"**Certainly not, Commander. We're just being cautious."**

"**I should hope so, Sir." **The two commanders nodded to one another, a natural understanding arrived between them. Tigh made a half turn and gestured towards the taller officer at his shoulder and a couple new arrivals who had slipped in otherwise unseen.

"**This is my Executive Officer, Major Karl Agathon. You've already met my Operations Officer and acting CAG, Captain Agathon. And these two latecomers over there are my lead pilot, Lieutenant Costanza, and our medical officer, Lieutenant Ishnay." **There was only the mildest tone of reproach toward the last two, though this was more than enough to leave all present clearly embarrassed.

Rice nodded to each as they were introduced, then mirrored the gesture. **"With me are Major Taylor, Sergeant Gaurland, and Corporal Lewis, all from my ship's Marine detatchment." **He paused, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically hesitant about continuing. Taking a further step to the side, he allowed Starbuck to stand in full view of Tigh and the rest. **"I believe you already know Colonel Thrace," **he finished.

The silence that followed was deafening. The weight of over a dozen pairs of eyes descended on Starbuck.

Unable to stand the silence or the stares, which should literally feel through the many layers of vapor-tight rubber and Kevlar mesh, Kara stepped forward and gave Tigh another salute. **"Commander."**

Tigh returned it, looking not a little wan suddenly, as if ill. **"C…Colonel," **was all he seemed able to get out. He quickly shook himself and continued, saying **"XO, you have the ship for the next hour. Athena, Costanza, Lieutenant, you're with me. Admiral, if you and your party will accompany me to our Operations Room? We can discuss things better there."**

"**Lead on, Commander." **Tigh moved off first, exiting through a nearby doorway, his officers filing after him silently and none of them giving the Terrans another look. Rice waited until Ishnay passed before following. Starbuck lingered a moment longer, meeting Karl Agathon's eyes, then turned and quit the room herself. Taylor and his men were on her heels, the atmosphere behind them anything but calm.

TBC...

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Yes, yes. I know its a short one here. Don't worry. The BIG meeting is coming up. Maybe we'll even get a few answers in the bargain.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those still wondering:

English dialogue is in "".

Colonial dialogue is **bolded.**

_Italicized_ dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.

With enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Polite" to see why. Thanks also to everyone who has written in so far; you're what keeps this story going!

**That all said, back to work…

* * *

**

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part Five

* * *

**

_The woman was neither angel nor demon, though she seemed to glow like the first and fought like the other._

_She explained herself as a warrior, speaking in an unfamiliar tongue and telling of distant stars._

_She spoke in reverence of gods that had gone without worshiped for millennia._

_She knew of things only just learned from a hulk found buried in Alaska._

_One year later…_

**1402 Hours GMT**

**Operations Room Alpha **

**Battlestar **_**Nemesis**_

The room was as brightly lit as the corridors and CIC they'd already trudged through, and no less Spartan. A single large planning board dominated the room and was it's only piece of furnishing. For some reason, Commander Tigh felt the need to apologize for this. **"I'd offer you all chairs, but…"** He trailed off, evidentially at a loss.

Admiral Rice picked up for him, at least attempted to. **"Quite alright, Commander. We…can't really sit down in these…these suits…"**

The two groups looked at one another for some moments, uncertainty simmering in the air. Rice stared at Tigh, and Tigh glared back. Athena held Taylor's gaze, and Taylor glared back. Costanza and Ishnay tried to keep eyes with Lewis and Gaurland and the Marines glaring back as only Marines can. And nobody present would as much as _glance_ in the direction of the room's final occupant. This might have stretched further still and without resolution, had said final occupant not spoken up then.

"**Sirs," **Starbuck began, addressing the group. **"Perhaps I should leave the room…"**

"**No!"** No less than four voices all but shouted this at the same time, causing everyone present to flinch or jump in collective surprise. More silence followed, only slightly less tense this time. At some point both Rice and Tigh found themselves staring toward Starbuck at the same time, their expressions unreadable. The others, Athena and Costanza particularly, would glance over in her direction several times before quickly looking away.

Rice shook his head. **"Look, this is getting ridiculous. Agreed**** Commander?"**

Tigh tore his remaining eye off his former pilot and nemesis and turned to his opposite number. **"Indeed, ****Admiral.****"**

"**No doubt you have some questions for us. And Colonel Thrace in particular?"**

"**Only a few thousand, ****Admiral****. And no doubt you have some of your own, yes?"**

"**Yes."**

Tigh shared a glance with Athena, who offered a quick nod of agreement. **"Then please go ahead and ask them. ****I am**** sure Star...Colonel Thrace ****will**** translate if required. Acceptable for the moment?" **The Admiral nodded. **"One question of my own: would you care to ****to**** move this somewhere else, or are**** you comfortable re?"**

"**Commander, my people and I are each wearing a stone-and-a-half worth of rubber and Kevlar that is environmentally sealed **_**and**_** lacks internal plumbing. 'Comfort' isn't in the cards right now."**

Tigh's smirk at the Terran's candor appeared and vanished in the blink of an eye. Instead, he nodded gravely and stated **"Understood, Sir." **He took another breath. **"How much has Colonel Thrace told you about us?"**

Rice looked to Starbuck **"Colonel?"**

Starbuck in turn stepped forward. She focused on the wall opposite her, which conveniently kept her eyes _off_ both sides. **"I have provided as thorough briefing as possible of Colonial history, Commander. At no time have I been under any duress to do so, nor have I knowingly compromised the Fleet's operational security." **If anyone noticed she was parroting Rice's earlier statement, they gave no sign.

"**Including the attack by the Cylons."**

"**Yes, Sir."**

This seemed to satisfy Tigh, who turned his attention back to Rice. **"Do you require a formal request for our Fleet to enter this star system?"**

"**Do you intend to settle here, in this star system?"**

"**Possibly." **This was as far as Tigh was apparently willing to go. This, as far as Rice was concerned, was enough.

"**I'll need some further evidence you and your ship aren't a massive Cylon construct designed to trap us."**

"**Not convinced, are you?" **Tigh addressed the question to Starbuck.

"**Would you be?"**

Her tone was as challenging as ever, just on the edge of outright disrespect. Athena and her shipmates covered their amusement well. Tigh simply nodded, his normal frown deepening to an almost-sneer. **"I'd have my weapon out at all times**_**. If**_** it were me, that is."**

"**Good thing then it isn't you, right? Might forget to keep the safety on, or keep the chamber clear."**

"**Colonel," **Rice growled warningly. Tigh simply shook his head.

"**It's alright, Admiral. The Colonel and I…we know where we stand with each other."**

"**Yes, Sir," **Starbuck affirmed. To Tigh she said, **"I…apologize…if I'm too far out of line, Commander." **There naturally wasn't a hint of apology to her tone.

"**Accepted, even if I don't recall you **_**ever**_** being 'in line' with anything, Colonel." **Starbuck looked ready to say something further to that, which Tigh didn't give her chance to get out. **"Admiral? What sort of evidence will you require to be satisfied?"**

"**An explanation of how you acquired this vessel would be a start." **Rice waved his hand about for emphasis. Tigh didn't seem offended by the question or implication; more relieved by it, if anything.

"**Captain Agathon, if you would?"**

"**Yes, Sir." **Athena, who had been holding back to that point, now stepped forward. **"Our fleet came across the **_**Nemesis**_** approximately a year ago according to our calendar. Has Starbuck…Colonel Thrace explained our system of time measurements, Sir?"**

"**She has." **

"**Very well. The decision was made to salvage the **_**Nemesis**_**, which was floating derelict at the time, and commission it into the Colonial Fleet under military control."**

"**You mean you found a frakkin' Basestar just floating about abandoned?"** Starbuck's tone carried enough disbelief for them all.

"**You can understand our, ahem, **_**surprise**_** at such a find. And God knows we weren't about to turn down a gift like this."**

"**Despite the possibility of it being a trap?"**

"**Naturally we considered that. Search parties however found…" **Athena paused and swallowed, something dark crossing her face. **"There were…bodies…aboard…"**

"_**Lots **_**of bodies," **Tigh murmured.

"**Cylons?" **Rice asked the obvious. When none of the Colonials responded, he persisted. **"Mechanical or…?"**

"**Both. The entire crew compliment."**

"**Mother of God…"** Rice couldn't say more. Even Taylor and Starbuck looked stricken at the image. **"How?"**

"**We have some...some theories, but don't know anything definite," **Athena stated bluntly. **"There were no hull breaches and no indication of external engagement. There was wreckage surrounding it from what we believe was another Basestar and possibly a Resurrection Ship. You know what that is as well, yes?"**

"**Yes."**

"**Additionally, remember I said it was derelict, **_**not**_** abandoned. There was one survivor found. She was…is…badly traumatized by whatever happened."**

"**Which model?"** Starbuck asked.

"**That's for later. In any case, she isn't aboard this ship." **Tigh's tone precluded questions along this line.

Rice took the hint. **"****This**** brings us to the next issue. Colonel Thrace led us to understand there would be some 40,000 survivors coming. Surely they aren't all crammed aboard this one ship, Commander?"**

"**No, they are not. The remainder of our Fleet is waiting outside of this system. As our original message to you stated we are an advanced party, Sir."**

"**Phrased like that, given what we know from Starbuck, are you surprised how cautious we are?"**

"**Not in the slightest, Admiral." **The Colonial Commander's lips worked into a tight grin directed at the table between them as he rubbed his bald pate, adding, **"I'm personally relieved by it, to be honest."**

"**Oh?"**

Tigh however didn't deign to elaborate. Major Taylor chose that moment to lean over to Rice. "Sir, advise that we leave someone with the shuttle at all times, just in case. Plus we've been out of contact with _Olympus_ for a bit now."

Starbuck apparently overheard this. "I agree, Sir."

"Noted, Major. Colonel." Rice was privately irritated he hadn't thought of Taylor's suggestion himself, and still more annoyed Starbuck had both heard it and put her own two cents in. He'd hoped to keep her _out_ of any…awkward decisions. The absolute last thing he could afford was to test her loyalties here.

The Colonel nudged him and nodded across the table. "Admiral?" Rice followed her eyes, noting Athena was handing a wall-mounted handset to Tigh, whose stance shifted slightly at whatever he heard. He glanced over toward them with something vaguely akin to worry, then muttered into Athena's ear.

"**Commander?" **Rice called over, watching Tigh attentively.

"**An update from my XO, Sir."**

"**Something wrong, Commander?"**

"**No, no. Just a couple of your planes flew off just now."**

"**I see."**

"**And your own conference there? Anything we should know?"**

"**My officers simply suggested we have someone man our shuttle and re-establish contact with our ship."**

"**Which is where, may I ask?"**

_This _brought the Terran up short for several seconds. **"Nearby," **was all Admiral Rice was prepared to state. Tigh and the others didn't appear wholly satisfied with this, but neither did they look prepared to press the point.

"**You have a twelve-hour quarantine period before you can take those suits off, correct?"**

"**Technically," **the Admiral nodded. **"If you and your crew are willing, we may be able to cut that period short a little."**

"**How?"** This came from Lieutenant Ishnay. In response, Rice waved to Corporal Lewis.

**"I can take some samples from members of the crew here and do some test for possible biohazards in either blood or saliva with some of the equipment aboard our shuttle." **

"**How many samples would you need?"**

"**Depends upon how many crew you have aboard. The larger the sample, the ****more**** confident we can be."**

"**I, uh, noticed Colonel Thrace doesn't appear to have suffered any adverse reactions to your atmosphere."**

Admiral Rice cut in. **"We're treating Colonel Thrace as a…special case."**

Athena apparently couldn't resist commenting, **"That's putting it mildly."**

"**What was that, Captain?"**

"**Nothing, Commander."**

"**Hmph. Lieutenant Ishnay, you are to provide Admiral Rice's men with whatever assistance they require. Captain, pass the word this is a direct order from me."**

"**Aye, Commander."**

"**Admiral Rice? How long will it take your men to analyze the samples we provide?"**

"**Lewis?"**

"**I'd say five to ten minutes, depending on the complexity of the samples."**

Starbuck stifled a nervous chuckle at the ping-pong quality the discussion had taken. She found her eyes zipping to each speaker in turn, at some point meeting Athena's. The intensity behind that brief contact hit her with almost physical force. She hadn't flinched from it, but neither could she keep herself wincing a bit from the raw anger intermixed with disbelief in those dark eyes. Athena broke that contact before her own emotions nearly causing her carefully schooled façade to crumble. Starbuck felt her own composure begin to wilt as a result.

Fortunately, Admiral Rice's voice shook her back to herself. **"Colonel?" **

"**Sorry, Sir. What was that?" **She couldn't bring herself to meet the Admiral's eyes, noticing instead how Tigh was back to scowling in her general direction while everyone else's was looking everywhere _except_ towards her.

"**The Commander suggested we continue this discussion while ****Corporal**** Lewis and Lieutenant Ishnay beginning testing fluid and blood samples from the crew. Does that sound acceptable?"**

"What about the shuttle?" Starbuck asked, deliberately switching to English.

"**Sergeant Gaurland will return to the shuttle and act as an internal relay for us." **Rice threw an apologetic look towards Tigh. **"The Colonel simply asked who would return to our shuttle, Commander. I'm sure she didn't mean to cut you out of the discussion or any manner of disrespect."**

"**That's alright, Admiral. As I said, Starbuck and I share a…**_**long**_** history." **From anyone else, this would have sounded conciliatory. From Tigh it was a not-so-veiled promise of an open airlock, and _no_ pressure suit, if he heard such a tone again, rank and status be damned.

For the second time in as many minutes, Starbuck had to stifle a laugh at how surreal the situation was. Instead, she bit her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, blinking back tears that weren't from the pain alone.

* * *

**1718 Hours GMT**

The next hours passed in a blur, at least for the medical team.

A steady stream of volunteers moved in and out of Life Station, each offering the requested three drops of blood and DNA swabs covered with spit to either the CMO or one of his orderlies. Ishnay had made the command decision that Taylor and Lewis stay out of sight lest the sight of them – or their gear at any rate – prompt questions he knew he couldn't answer.

It of course had been impossible to keep rumors from spreading and stories getting spun out of the thinnest thread from the moment Javelin had piped over Starbuck challenge for her to cut engines. Even the Commander's directive to bring the Terrans in via cleared corridors and deploying the ship's entire Marine complement hadn't kept the overly curious from sneaking a peek or two. The sheer volume of crewmembers coming in attested to this.

Ishnay himself had been a pharmacist before the worlds ended, finding himself aboard the _Pan Galacia _only because he'd won a lottery and with just enough Picon dollars in his bank account to afford a motel outside of Delphi. His minimal training in drug distribution had by necessity been expanded over the years, to where he'd become Major Cottle's right hand man and now a CMO in his own right. He liked to think he'd been trained well enough to handle any contingency that might arise; certainly the Commander's occasional praise of his work helped bolster his confidence there.

But all this was so far beyond the pale he couldn't _help_ but feel as lost as when they had received news of the Colonies destruction. Contact with entirely new people, clearly more advanced both technically and probably socially than their own? Never mind how a nearly-legendary Viper pilot traveled in their company despite being presumed dead these last two years, yet seemingly none the worse for her journey back from the afterlife? Who in their right mind could even conceive of witnessing such things, never mind trying to prepare for them?

The apparatus Lewis and Taylor worked over appeared to be a combination electron microscope, photostat scanner, computer monitor, and spinning centrifuge. Ishnay counted his blessings that both Terrans spoke passable Standard, though their accents kept slurring only every eighth or tenth word. Still he could only barely follow their explanation of how their equipment worked. Despite these uncertainties, he followed his orders and hoped he wasn't unintentionally handing over the keys to his people's final extermination.

Each of the blood samples consisted of just three drops on a small slip of plastic, which in turn was placed face down on the scanner portion of the equipment. The swabs were placed into miniature test tubes and fitted into the centrifuge a dozen at a time. Instead of spinning, it would flash with a blast of ultraviolet light. The test tubes were then removed from the assembly and placed into storage racks alongside their corresponding blood sample. The monitor array was constantly flashing new data that Ishnay could just make out as DNA and RNA sequences, projections of each, and scrolling texts of an alien alphabet.

The two Terrans would answer Ishnay's questions when he posed them but otherwise carried on a running dialogue between themselves in their own language. There was nothing hostile or secretive in their manner or tone of their exchanges. Coolly professional, the both of them, and completely focused upon their work for at least the first two dozen or so samples they examined.

With each progressive sample after that, however they seemed to become more and more...anxious. It was difficult to tell through their heavy suits and rapidly fogging visors. By sample fifty, Corporal Lewis was punching buttons on the keyboard as if they were nipping at his fingertips. Major Taylor would glance at the readouts from all this and shake his head as if in disbelief, then go back to receiving and processing the samples Ishnay brought over.

**"Is something wrong, Sir?"** the Colonial CMO asked when he brought over samples seventy through seventy-eight to Taylor.

"Eh?" the Terran grunted in his native language. "What was that?"

"**Is there something wrong?"** Ishnay repeated carefully, refusing to let go of the tray. Taylor looked at him, clearly needing a moment to get the hint.

"**Oh, uh, no. No, no, Lieutenant." **He quickly cleared his throat. **"Nothing is wrong here."**

**  
"Then will you please explain what has you both so excited? I am the Chief Medical Officer of this ship, remember."**

"**Um," **Lewis broken in. **"How representative of the ship's crew are these samples, Lieutenant?"**

"**A fair cross-section of ages and genders. We've only about five hundred crew aboard, about a quarter of them female." **

"**That's all?"**

"**We also have a civilian population aboard: spouses, dependents and the like. Add another say two hundred there, plus another two hundred civilians with or undergoing technical training.**

"**And we're getting samples from the latter two groups as well?"**

"**They were among the first contacted by Captain Agathon. ****It's ****only been the last dozen or so that have come ****from ****the military crew."**

"**What are the sanitary conditions among the civilians?"**

"**A damn sight better than they were aboard the **_**Galactica**_**. Has Thrace told you about 'Dogstown'?"**

"**A bit."**

"**Well, you won't find any of that here. We've been able to fabricate soap and cleansers aboard **_**Nemesis**_** and make damned sure they get distributed Fleet-wide."**

Taylor pondered this for a bit, accepting the next two sample trays from Ishnay, who decided to trust his gut that the Terrans weren't hiding anything serious. By the hundredth sample, Ishnay was starting to feel dizzy from the hectic back-and-forth. Dizzy and not a little irritated with his visitors. Certainly, his orderlies were starting to look a tad rebellious.

"**Look," **he finally said as he handed over another tray of swabs and sample tabs. **"I'm calling an end to this **_**unless**_** I start getting some information here!" **Neither Terran seemed to pay attention at that moment, both instead intent upon something showing on the monitor.

"**What exactly am I looking at?"** Ishnay demanded. He recognized the double-helix structure showing there, though the characters were indecipherable. What caught him was how the DNA helix seemed to be in constant rotation, pausing every few seconds to highlight a section or two of the helix in red, further text scrolling out beside that section before the helix began rotating again.

Lewis explained very carefully what the DNA projection represented: a composite of every sample brought in. He then explained that the highlighted sections were: projections of base pair combinations that would impact upon a body's interacts with identified pathogens and infections.

Then he explained what it meant for the highlighting to appear in red.

It was all Ishnay could do to stumble back into the nearest chair, speechless.

* * *

**1801 Hours GMT**

_**Olympus **_**CIC**

Commander Avery-Hunter was distantly aware of the activity around him, the majority of his mental and emotional facilities focused expressly upon the primary AEGIS display before them. Colonel Callisto handled the moment-to-moment details of running both the Bridge and ship as any good XO might, leaving the CO free for the more important matters of worrying himself sick.

A new watch was just coming on shift when Callisto silently handed him a small slip of hardcopy. He looked down at and frowned. "Have you read this?" he asked her quietly.

"I have, Sir."

"Wow."

"My reaction too."

The CO stared at the paper for another heartbeat. "This forwarded to 'Babel'?"

"I've confirmed."

"Wow."

"Yeah," the XO echoed. "Wow."

"Get ready to modify alert status to MOSES. We go on confirmation from Babel."

"Aye-aye." The young colonel moved off to start barking orders to her equally young subordinates. The CO tuned all this out and resumed staring at the main board.

"Wow," he chuckled to himself one last time, feeling a genuine smile hit him for the first time in years.

TBC...

* * *

**Authors Note: **a "stone" in terms of weight measurement is roughly 14 pounds. I'm using it here because Apollo used it to refer to his weight loss in "Collaborators", indicating the Colonials use the Imperial System of weights and measures. I could of course be wrong here, but hey, it's all fiction right? 


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those still wondering:

English dialogue is in "".

Colonial dialogue is **bolded.**

_Italicized_ dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.

With enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Polite" to see why. Thanks also to everyone who has written in so far; you're what keeps this story going!

**That all said, back to work…**

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part Six

* * *

**

**Two hours earlier...**

**1524 Hours GMT**

"Acknowledged, Sergeant," Rice stated into his suit's mic, confirming Guarland's report of returning to Owl 71 and re-establishing contact with _Olympus._Ishnay had personally escorted Taylor and Lewis, who had likewise confirmed their safe arrival and commencement of testing via personal mics. This left himself and Thrace at the tender mercies of Tigh, Athena and Costanza. Tigh dismissed Costanza after a few minutes with orders to try to control any crazy rumors circulating amongst the crew, the pilots particularly.

"**And if they ask about Starbuck?"** Costanza had asked quietly before he left.

"**Tell 'em they'll hear it from me**** and everyone keep on their best behavior. Now move." **Hotdog gave his commander a salute and hustled away without another glance at either Rice or the subject of discussion. Silence again descended on the Ops Room, no less tense or uncertain than before.

"**I see Costanza's shaped up pretty well while I've been gone," **Starbuck stated, reaching for something to say.

Tigh glanced her way with a glower, and then refocused on Admiral Rice. **"How long do you expect these tests to take, Admiral?"**

"**At the very least a few hours, Commander. Likely much longer."**

"**Hmph. Obviously I can't offer you two a drink in the meantime, eh? May I offer you at least a cybol tour of the ship instead?"**

"**A splendid idea, Sir. Any objections, Colonel?"**

"**None, Admiral," **Starbuck replied, her tone completely at odds with the sentiment. She figured the Basestar had to least equal the internal volume of the _Olympus_, if not more. The prospect of marching around in their gear _and_ carrying the Sniffer wasn't all that appealing. Fortunately the past two years had taught her a thing or two about carrying 'extra' weight.

"**Commander Tigh, we are at your disposal."**

"**Very well, Admiral. Captain, with me." **Tigh led the way out of Ops and back to the Bridge, Athena on his heels and Rice and Starbuck lumbering after. Major Agathon came to attention when they stepped into sight.

"**Major, please show our guests here around the **_**Nemesis**_**."**

"**Yes, Sir****. How extensively?"**

"**Non-vital areas. Some of Little Delphi if it can be managed without causing a stir."**

"**Understood, Sir."** The Major met his wife's gaze for second, a fractional nod passing between them which Starbuck couldn't miss.

"**You understood everything I just said to my Executive, Admiral?"**

"**Non-vital areas only and...small delphon, was it?"**

Tigh actually cracked a grin at the Admiral sounding uncertain for a change. **"Almost, Sir. I'm sure Cap...I'm sure Colonel Thrace can fill in any holes for you."**

"**I'm sure." **Rice turned to the formidable presence standing a few paces off. **"Major? We're in your hands."**

"**If you'll follow me, Admiral?"** The tall man had eyes for the senior officer of the pair, as if Starbuck didn't even exist.

Starbuck couldn't stop the flinch that came from her former crewmate's lack of acknowledgment, uncertain if it were conscious or not. She trailed after Helo and the Admiral, feeling the heat a dozen eyes on her back.

* * *

**1650 Hours GMT**

Major Agathon proved an adequate if some taciturn tour guide. 'Non-vital areas' of the ship evidentially were the crew's quarters, rec areas, the hanger decks, and parts of the fabrication plant which churned out everything from new uniforms to soap to much needed spare parts for the rest of the Fleet. It was only with the last that required a bit more explanation than "This is Crew Deck A" and "Those are Rec Rooms Four and Five". The Major offered some further explanation when prompted, but otherwise kept his peace and was quite _obvious_ about _not_ looking anywhere in the direction of Colonel Thrace.

The Admiral hid any irritation he might have felt at this quite well, nodding at the appropriate times and letting the Colonial officer lead the discussion. Their path appeared to be winding back to CIC and giving 'Little Delphi' a miss. As they passed an empty rec room, he spoke up. **"Major, I'd like to get some air samples from in here. Alone if that's alright?"**

"**I've no objection, Sir,"** Helo replied tightly. **"But please stay in sight."**

"**Of course. You stay put, Colonel." **Before Starbuck could object to the order, her superior officer turned and entered the empty room, waving his instrument about in an exaggerated show of checking the farthest corner visible from the doorway. His movements were slow, deliberately so; a more pointed directive could not be imagined.

"**So," **Starbuck started, stomach tightening as if she were about to step into the ring for another 'dance'. **"How's Hera?"**

Helo's expression softened a bit at the question. **"She's good. Growing fast. Nightmares aren't as bad these days."**

"**Figured," **she smiled in reply**. "How about the Chief and Cally? Nicky start gnawing on Viper parts?"**

"**They're good last I saw."**

Starbuck had to take a breath, trying to decide whether to go through the entire crew roster or just jump into the proverbial deep end. There was no real choice to make there of course. She'd never been one to do things by half.

But that didn't mean she couldn't test the waters first. **"Ho…how about the Old Man?" **It was a…safer…question than the one to come.

"**He's fine." **Kara blew a relieved breath, only to have it freeze in her throat as something resembling a scowl hit Helo's face. **"At least, he was until his son flipped out, handed in his wings, and helped get Baltar declared 'not guilty' by his tribunal."**

"**Lee…handed in his…?"** She couldn't form the words, certain she'd misheard everything. **"Wuh…why?"**

"**I think watching his Lead Pilot fly into a storm system and **_**appeared to**__**blow up in front of him**_** had something to do with it." **Helo clenched his teeth hard enough to hear the enamel scrape. **"Didn't do much for Fleet or pilot morale, either."**

"**Is he…he's…"** Again, she couldn't form the words, the possibilities too terrifying to consider.

"**He's alive. At least, so I hear." **The Colonial took what looked like a calming breath. **"He didn't re-up or take his wings back, at least."**

"**He…what?"**

"**He's not a pilot anymore, Kara. Simple as that." **That pseudo-scowl returned and he closed the distance between them. **"How about you? I'd like to know how in Hades you're still in one piece, huh?"**

"**We'd all like to know that, Major," **the Admiral suddenly stated from the doorway. Helo immediately stepped back, as did Starbuck, though the latter more as if she were shoved. **"She piloted a flaming Viper through our atmosphere and made a perfect landing without either instrumentation or visibility. Exactly how she managed that we've no idea, given she was completely unconscious when we pulled her out of the wreckage." **The senior officer chuckled loudly. **"Maybe it **_**was**_** the Gods who delivered her to us."**

"**I apologize, Sir," **Helo stated quickly.

"**For what? It's a perfectly legitimate question."** This appeared to bring both Helo and Starbuck up short. Rice pushed on. **"Major, the Commander mentioned another section of the ship? Little delphonany or something?"**

"**Little Delphi, Sir. It's a, well, civilian community aboard."** Helo met their looks directly. **"**_**Nemesis**_** serves as a platform for technical training for our Fleet, instructing people for service in our refinery and mining ships as well as for Military service."**

"**I'm presuming this is all voluntary?"**

"**It is."**

"**Is that…is that where…?" **Starbuck cursed her sudden inability to speak, the shock of recent revelations only just wearing off.

"**No, he isn't," **Helo replied flatly. He was privately but profoundly relieved when both Starbuck and the Admiral nodded, apparently not wanting to pursue _that_ particular line of questioning further. He doubted he could begin to explain the relationship involved in any coherent manner anyway.

The Admiral instead asked **"Why wasn't this area on our agenda here? I'm just curious, mind."**

"**The Commander asked we avoid creating any…disruptions here if it can be helped, Sir. I…until you can remove those suits safely**** I feel we should keep to areas of minimal population."**

"**That's accurate, Sir," **Starbuck affirmed. **"You're really getting into this XO stuff, huh?"** she added, old habits suddenly taking hold.

"**And how many letters are after **_**your**_** name these days?" **Helo replied with a small grin.

The Admiral again broke in. **"Colonel Thrace is our Commander of Combined Air Wings, which incidentally puts her at the top of our fleet's food-chain and pretty much irreplaceable." **He had no doubt the Colonel herself was giving a rare blush to this recital. It didn't help that Helo gave a small whistle of genuine surprise. **"I should also mention the only reason she's here…excuse us, Major." **

Helo watched as both Starbuck and Rice tapped their earpieces, evidentially allowing one of their teammates to speak to them privately. Taylor's dour voice cut in on their internal mics. "We are, Major," Rice confirmed this suspicion. "What's up?"

They both listened to whatever message was being sent them, both going very, very still as they did. "Good to know. Maintain position." The Admiral clicked off and nodded to Starbuck. "And you wonder why the Flight Surgeons hate you."

"Here I thought it was my winning personality," the Colonel bantered back. "Recommend we consider ending Phase Two, Sir."

"No more doubts?"

"Not since the Commander slapped me down back there."

"Noted." He turned back to Helo, who had been watching their exchange with care. **"Major, would you please ask the Commander to join us in your medical wing? We have something rather important to show him."

* * *

**

**1723 Hours GMT**

Life Station was a bit more crowded than normal when Tigh and Athena breezed in, with Rice, Starbuck, Helo, Ishnay, Taylor and Lewis all crowded into the back area the CMO had partitioned off for the Terran's equipment. Helo quickly moved over to Tigh and whispered something into his ear. Tigh simply nodded in reply and ordered **"Major, return to CIC." **Helo saluted and left without a word. Tigh turned and asked no-one in particular, **"Okay, what's wrong?"**

It was Corporal Lewis who spoke up. **"We've compiled a genetic profile of your people, based on the samples your crew has provided."**

"**So?"**

"**Well, Sir. I believe it's been mentioned our planet had a pandemic in the recent past." **

"Again, so?"

Rice nodded over to Lewis, who turned a small monitor screen about so the newest arrivals could see it. **"****All right****what am I looking at?" **Tigh asked with his customary impatience.

"**The red text on the side here? Those are known pathogens and infectious diseases." **Tigh leaned in closer while Athena remained where she was. The alphabet was unfamiliar to either but both could make out a sizable list of individual names there.

"**Please don't tell me my people are in danger from all **_**that**_**," **Tigh groaned, only to look up sharply at the Corporal's next words.

"**No, Sir. Quite the reverse. All the samples are…well, for lack of a better word, clean. According to the scans and projected breakdowns, your people could fight off most everything in the inventory."**

"**What? How?"**

"**Got me there, Sir. Every sample I've run shows them coming up negative against everything from the common cold to Marburg Influenza. Hell, even Mannheim-Tariq Strains B and D is projected at a zero-point-five percent rate of infection."**

The names meant nothing the Colonials, but Rice and Taylor couldn't help but be stunned. "That's…pretty damned impressive," the Admiral mused aloud. "Mannheim-Tariq" was the name for the strains of viruses better known as 'The Blight', which had come some terribly close to wiping out its creators. Humanity had survived only because the virus itself had mutated to a more benign strain after its accidental release into the biosphere.

It had prompted humanity to walk a little more softly upon the planet if nothing else, and to get serious about guarding against another such outbreak in the future. Hence the extreme speed and precision of the instruments they'd brought aboard. The processing package of the DNA scanners could pick apart the genetic code of every crewmember in the Terran Fleet within a few hours if needed and, within a fair margin of confidence, project any conceivable worry from a resurgence of the flu to viral hemorrhagic fever.

Tigh took in the stunned stances of his opposite numbers and asked, "**How about the other way around? Are you in any danger from us?"**

"**I'm finding nothing unidentifiable or even vaguely threatening besides a vague analogue to Chicken Pox, which looks so weak a couple Aspirin could probably lick it." **

"**Chick-ken Poch?" **Tigh and Athena both looked over at Starbuck, who translated for them.

"**Coryn's Fever, Commander. He doesn't find anything more serious than that."** Which was a bit a joke in itself given how decidedly harmless Coryn's Fever itself was; embarrassing as hell _where_ it caused breakouts to happen, but otherwise total benign.

"**You're joking."**

"**No, Sir," **Lewis was quick to shake his head.

"**Ishnay, can you confirm any of this?"**

"**Not with the equipment I have available, Sir. But, uh, what they're saying does make sense."**

"**Eh? How?"**

"**Sir, when was the last time we had an actual health crisis in the Fleet? One that didn't involve a Cylon attack?" **Ishnay shook his head. **"I can't remember one, Sir. Even the Sagittarians haven't shown more than the occasional sniffle from chill sweats in the last couple years."**

"**Okay, granted," **Tigh conceded with a slow nod. **"Never though much about it."**

"**I doubt any of us have." **Ishnay left this to hang between them all for a few breaths.

Rice glanced back at the monitor and asked, "Corporal, based on this new information, do you have any recommendations?"

"Above my pay grade, Sir."

"Major Taylor?"

The Marine shook his head. "With all due respect, Sir, _not _touching it."

"Weasel jarhead," the Admiral muttered before turning to Starbuck. "Well I already know what _you_ think, Colonel."

"Yes, sir."

Rice added quietly, "Corporal Lewis, notify Sergeant Guarland I am terminating Stage Two as of 1731 hours. Relay to _Olympus_ and remain in position."

"Aye, Sir."

Starbuck leaned over and stated equally quietly, "Volunteer to go first, Sir."

"Not in _this_ lifetime, Thrace. The rest of you are to remain as you are until I say otherwise."

"**Admiral?" **Tigh questioned, not liking the tone of the conversation.

Admiral Rice sighed again and straightened. **"Commander Tigh. Based on this information I am making a field command decision to terminate our Stage Two quarantine. You may want to take a step back."**

"**Why?" **The question came from Athena, who had taken a defensive step between the Terrans and her commanding officer.

Rice didn't answer in words, at least not immediately. He tugged at a number of barely-visible seals and catches on his suit instead. The air in Life Station went still and silent, save for the slow hiss of pressure within and without the Admiral's gear equalizing. Once the hissing was done, he pulled his visored hood completely off and took another, deeper breath. The sweat on his bald head sparkled from the lights overhead.

The Admiral cleared his throat experimentally. He managed not to wrinkle his nose at the acrid scent of cleansers than hung around them. Keeping his expression completely blank, Rice regarded the three Colonials before him, grateful to finally be able to do so with clear eyes. He revised his opinion of Ishnay's likely age downward by a decade. The slender man's prematurely graying hair and air of weariness lending years to him. No threat there.

Athena was a bit more complicated, looking at once relaxed and coiled in the same stance. Rice still wracked his memory for what was so significant about Sharon Agathon but couldn't quite put his finger to it. This was annoying because she was setting off alarm klaxons in his head by just standing there. The fact she seemed more focused upon Starbuck than anyone else. Right then, it wasn't all that comforting either.

Tigh simply watched everything with a steadiness that was wholly at odds with the sort of man Thrace had described at such length over the last two years. Unlike Agathon, the details she'd imparted on Saul Tigh were extensive, surpassed in sheer volume by only two other names. He looked older and was visibly more weathered than the rest of them put together, his eye patch and the deep lines under his remaining eye testifying to his trials. There was an internal tension to the man that struck Rice as different from the usual ones of command.

He could sympathize, especially right then. He could feel the weight of history suddenly slide onto his shoulders. There was nothing to mark the import of the next few minutes besides the handful of them standing there.

Strangely, that actually felt like enough.

"**Commander Tigh. Per United Nations Resolution 591, I am authorized and empowered to extend refugee status to the people of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." **For added emphasis, the Admiral made a further show of breaking the seals on his sleeves and pulling his heavy gloves off. **"Welcome, Sir," **he stated as he took a long step forward and extended his now-uncovered hand.

The Colonial Commander stared at the offered hand for several long breaths. He took one equally-long step forward and, eye fixed on the Admiral's own, clasped it firmly.

"**Thank you, Admiral." **He took a breath of his own, initially in relief, only to wrinkle his own nose as a familiar smell hit him. In a rare show of diplomacy, he continued, **"Before we continue…"**

"**Yes?"**

"**May I offer you the use of our showers?"**

**TBC…**

**

* * *

**

**Authors Note: **Yes, another relatively short chapter. And yes, things are moving a bit slower than perhaps they would on-screen. Trust me when I say they'll be picking up from here on. Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to review; your comments are what keep me going here!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those still wondering:

English dialogue is in "".

Colonial dialogue is bolded.

_Italicized_ dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.

With enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Polite" to see why. Thanks also to everyone who has written in so far; you're what keeps this story going!

**That all said, back to work…

* * *

**

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part Seven

* * *

**

**1750 Hours GMT**

**Battlestar **_**Nemesis**_

In the interests of fostering further good will with the Colonials the Admiral was only too willing to take Tigh up on his offer of a shower. That this would improve their individual comfort and personal hygiene considerably was simply a happy side-effect.

Ishnay directed them to the head used by his medical staff. Taylor and Lewis had broken the seals on their own suits after Tigh and the Admiral had shaken on it. Starbuck had held back for her own reasons, reassuring the Commander and Admiral both nothing was amiss. She'd taken the moment to order Guarland to put out their 'travel bags' for pick up by the Colonials; the implication being Tigh would detail some of his men to do exactly that.

If Tigh or his officers were taken aback by her presumption, they didn't show it. **"See to it, Captain," **was the Commander's only reply. Athena simply nodded evenly and went to the wall-mounted phone to do as ordered.

Once this was finished she and Ishnay led their guests out of Life Station and down the hallway. Lewis had been left behind to ensure _Olympus_ received the data on the Colonial's immunity and ensure the scanner was packed away properly.

At that point, everyone was back to _not_ looking in Starbuck's direction, which she found flattering in a way. She couldn't help but be on edge at the non-looks Athena was carelessly _not_ directing her way. This wasn't nearly as nerve-wracking as Athena directing her into a separate room entirely from the others. By rights this should have had Rice and Taylor both up in arms and declaring 'battle royale' at such treatment, given regulations and all.

As it was the Admiral had simply shared a guarded look with Tigh before they'd stepped out of Life Station, followed by a couple meaningful looks-cum-glares toward Athena and Taylor. Whatever had gone unspoken between them all had evidentially satisfied the parties involved. A Letter of Marque might as well have been signed and put in Agathon's hand, the way she moved and oh-so-gently nudged her former shipmate in the desired direction.

Given this, and strictly to ensure the continued comity of their hosts, she offered no resistance as Athena led her off. The head they entered was smaller than the communal ones they'd shared back on _Galactica_. Some battered lockers stood against one wall, an oversized sink against another and a single long bench between them. There was only one shower stall in the otherwise empty room. Athena closed the door after them and leaned back against it with arms folded and single eye-brow raised. Starbuck pouted in reply and began breaking the seals of her suit one by one.

She was _very_ deliberate and careful about it, just to mess with her temporary guard a bit. A process that would normally take five minutes at most took twice as long. Starbuck simply concentrated on pulling off her gear and leaving it in an untidy pile upon the bench. Her underwear quickly joined it without a hint of modesty on their owner's part, leaving her naked beyond her octagonal dog tags and a familiar ring on her left big toe. Starbuck then pulled off a small bundle that had been affixed to the side of her suit and tore it open. Within it was a pair of folded cloths, one of which she left on the bench away from her discarded suit. The other she took with her into the stall and began rubbing over herself, causing her skin to glisten.

Athena sniffed once and couldn't keep herself from gagging at the stench. Starbuck ignored this, but did glance over her shoulder to grin, **"Do my back?"**

"**What the frak is that?"**

"**Better not to ask."**

Athena blew a disgusted breath and shook her head. She stared at the floor and the gear piled there, trying to block out the scent of whatever Starbuck was rubbing over herself right then. She had little success there and consoled herself that it was likely worse for Ishnay.

Starbuck started up the shower a minute later, shivering under the cold torrent and twisting the knob hard to the other side. It was a vain effort as this area was used expressly for treating chemical spills and the shower had only two settings: cold and _very _cold. Athena threw her a vicious grin as Starbuck set on the quickest shower of her life. She rubbed herself with the cloth once more, sluicing off the smelly stuff quickly and efficiently.

Shutting off the water, Starbuck stomped out of the stall and picked up the second cloth, which unfolded to become a body wrap. Now it was Starbuck's turn to studiously ignore the rest of the room as she patted herself dry and wrapped the thin material about herself, doing so with the frosty air of one ready to communicate with the ignored party knuckles first.

Athena took the moment to conduct a visual inventory of the woman, carefully noting the tattoos that adorned her shoulder, arm and neck. She likewise noted the familiar scars here and there on her, as well as a couple new ones. A couple on her abdomen caused her own stomach to tighten in sympathy.** "Are those new?"** she asked, not feeling the need to specify what she was referring to.

The room's temperature dropped another ten degrees. **"Mind your own business, Agathon." **Starbuck met her eyes forthrightly and added, **"Anything you want to say to me while you've got the chance?"**

"**Nothing that doesn't involve boxing gloves or titanium knuckles, Thrace." **

Backhanded flattery had it limits, and Starbuck had reached hers. **"What the hell is your problem, Agathon?" **Just to underline the sentiment, she bent down and unhooked her sidearm and holster from her biohazard suit.

The subtle message was apparently lost on the target, who questioned, **"My problem?"**

"**Yes."**

"**My **_**problem**_**?" **There was a note of disbelief on the second word.

"**Yes! What the frak is it with everyone here?"**

Athena did not answer immediately, instead letting out something between a snort of disgust and a laugh of pure bitterness. This was accompanied by a roll of the eyes that was anything but amused. Before Starbuck knew it, they were nose to nose and something very cold wrapped itself around her spine. The fight-or-flight instinct was kicking into overdrive despite neither being an actual option right then.

"**My problem, **_**Colonel**_** Thrace, is you. Standing there. Right now."**

"**Really?" **

"**Yeah. Really."**

Thrace had no more idea where this was going than when one of her Nuggets planetside had made a show of taking off her ear rings one night in the canteen. That incident had resulted in a pool cue aimed at her head and sending the girl flying into a wall. It hadn't been fun.

Athena was still speaking. **"You really don't get it, do you?"**

"**Get what, exactly? That everyone's surprised I'm still breathing? Join the frakkin' club!"**

Another snort-laugh, double on the disgust and bitterness this time. **"You think it's that simple, **_**Colonel**_**?"**

"**Well obviously 'it' isn't, because I'm not **_**getting**_** 'it'. Why don't you spell 'it' out for me, **_**Captain**_**?"**

"**You practically killed the Admiral and Apollo when you...you...!" **The vehemence in Athena's outburst alone nearly propelled Starbuck into the opposite wall. The small but bruising shove that accompanied it was enough to knock her back onto the bench.

"**Whuh...? Helo...Helo said they..." **New and even more terrible possibilities rose up in her mind, blotting out all other thought. Whatever her expression was right then, it was enough to shake Athena out of her own anger and had her kneeling before Starbuck, gently holding her by the shoulders which were shaking badly enough her towel threatened to come loose.

Athena felt all the fight, all the irrational anger fueling it, just drain out of her. **"They're both...okay, Starbuck. Really. They're both fine." **She hoped her assurances didn't sound quite as false to Starbuck's ears as they did to her own. **"Starbuck? **_**Colonel!**_**" **She very nearly shouted the last word, hoping it would snap Starbuck out of it.

It did, and as a result, the front of her dress blues was suddenly bunched up in two surprisingly strong hands. **"Helo said they were **_**fine**_**!"**

"**They are! They are! Calm down!"**

"**Frakking tell me!"**

"**Okay, okay! Calm down, dammit!" **Athena managed to pry Starbuck's fingers off her shirt and held them as gently as she would Hera when the child was in a temper. **"They're fine. Both of them. Understand me? **_**Both**_** of them."**

"**You just said..."**

"**I said...I didn't mean it like **_**that**_**. God, only you...!"** The Colonial officer sighed and collected herself. **"Kara, you just...vanished. Apollo said he saw your Viper blow up right in front of him. It just...just hit him...them...hit all of us like it was...was like New Caprica all over again." **Again a small lie to cover a few less clear truths, most of which were simply not her place to speak of.

There was only one thing Starbuck cared about right then. **"But they're both alive, yes?"**

"**Yes. God, yes!"**

"**Okay, okay." **She took a shaky breath. "**Okay, fine. That's all I need to hear." **Athena gave her an odd look, as if expecting further questions about other crewmembers. Starbuck simply sat there, shaking ever so slightly.

There was a knock at the door. Athena rose to answer it, finding Major Taylor standing there in a uniform not unlike her own and smelling a bit fresher than before. **"Colonel Thrace?"**

"**She's finished, Sir..."**

"**I'm here,"** Starbuck called out, quickly wiping her eyes clean and refastening her wrap. She pushed past Athena and glared at Taylor's new attire. **"I see the travel bags got delivered."**

"**Yes, Ma'am."**

"**So...where's mine?"**

"**Admiral Rice asks we rejoin him in Life Station, Ma'am."**

"**As we are?"**

"**Aye, Ma'am."**

Starbuck snorted, **"This is payback for something, isn't it?"**

"**I can't say, Ma'am."**

"**Yeah, right," **Starbuck muttered, throwing a quick glare at Athena. **"We aren't finished, Agathon."** She then marched past Taylor and back towards Life Station. Taylor could only exchange a helpless look with Athena as they quickly fell in behind her.

They re-entered Life Station to find Lewis and the Admiral conferring over the still-unpacked monitor section of the testing equipment. Commander Tigh was not present and Lt. Ishnay was to one side, donning a familiar white lab coat.

"**Send it precisely as written," **Rice quietly ordered Lewis, who quickly hammered something into the embedded keyboard.

"**Recommendation sent. Confirmation pending, Sir," **Lewis replied equally quietly.

"**Very well."**

Before Starbuck could ask the obvious, Ishnay called over to her **"Ah, Colonel Thrace. Excellent. Come over here, please."**

"**Why?" **she immediately challenged.

Not raising his eyes from the monitor, Admiral Rice ordered, **"Do as he says, Colonel." **A two-second glance from him was that was needed to kill any further argument.

Starbuck stomped over to Ishnay, who was laying out some basic medical instruments on a tray. **"Please lay down in there, Colonel," **he directed her to what looked like a tanning bed, albeit one that didn't appear to close.

She threw a dubious look at Ishnay but did as ordered. This actually proved a bit of a task as she was careful to keep her wrap closed as tightly as possible. **"What is all this anyway?" **

"**X-rays. I'll also be running a basic MRI."**

"**Don't I need eye shades or something?"**

"**What was that?"**

"**Should I close my eyes?"**

"**If you like. It is not really necessary." **The way he said it had her immediately squeezing her eyes shut, just in time for the microsecond burst of light to wash completely over her. **"There, done."**

It was all she could do to bite down a very, very loud curse. **"Please stay still, Colonel," **Ishnay ordered.** "I just need to run an MRI." **There was no flash of light this time, merely a slow hum. Starbuck kept her eyes closed and tried to think calming thoughts, most of which centered on blowing Raiders out of the sky in complex dogfights. She even imagined Tigh and Ishnay's faces superimposed on several of her imaginary targets, which nearly caused her to giggle at points.

"**This will take longer if you don't stay still, Colonel,"** was Ishnay's only comment. Taking the hint Starbuck sobered and did her best to relax. No easy feat the way she was feeling right then. She didn't even realize her fists were instinctively clenching until she felt the bite of her nails into her palm.

She counted from one to twenty, twice, switching between English and Colonial Standard every other digit.

She mentally ran down the pre-flight checks for Terran and Colonial Vipers and made notes on the differences between the two.

She thought up new stratagems for Triad and Poker and wondered if she could con the Agathons into a game of Strip Poker.

She diligently refused to let her thoughts drift anywhere near any other surnames beginning with an Alpha, which proved far harder than she expected.

She was fast running out of safe things to keep her mind occupied and found herself starting to wonder if Doc Cottle was keeping his domain as pristine as young Ishnay did here. This was a dangerous direction as it led to wondering about _Galactica_, which in turn led her to wonder about...

"**Done. You can get up now, Colonel." **This took a bit more maneuvering on her part, uncharacteristic modesty rearing its quadrangular head once more.

"**Okay, so, where's my uniform?" **she asked of no-one in particular. She caught a vacuum-sealed packet tossed to her by Taylor, who had been standing nearby remarkably unobtrusively given his size and general demeanor. Tucking it under one arm, Starbuck moved over to one of the examination bays and pulled the curtain closed after her. Tearing open the pack she quickly unfolded the fresh uniform it contained.

Starbuck dressed herself quickly. It wasn't until she had the tunic buttoned and tucked in that she noticed someone had seen fit to include not only her Senior Pilot Wings, but also the two Silver Stars the Octagon had seen fit to pin on her for "Exceptional Conduct". All she could do was pray to the Lords that no-one asked her about them, particularly given she hadn't seen either Rice or Taylor wearing anything more than their own rank insignia. Doubtless there were going to be _enough_ uncomfortable questions going to be asked over the next couple hours, most them she was sure going to be focused on _her _specifically. Hopefully the fact she had her sidearm strapped to her hip would keep things as formal as possible.

Rather than dwell on the likely outcome of _that_, she concentrated on lacing up her boots and settling her beret on her head properly (a skill she was working at mastering). Her one consolation to it all was how unlikely it was Tigh or the rest would ask who was responsible for their choice of headgear.

Pushing the curtain aside, the now-properly attired Colonel Thrace found herself facing an almost empty Life Station. Only Athena and one of the duty nurses were present. **"Colonel," **Athena nodded formally.

"**Captain," **Starbuck nodded in return, willing to go with the formality. It was safer then the other reactions that competed for action right then, most of which involved hugs or swinging a few roundhouse punches. She clasped her hands behind her to damp down the likelihood of either. **"May I ask where everyone is?" **

"**The Commander and CMO are conferring with your Admiral and Major in Conference Beta. I'm to escort you there."**

"**Well lead on then, Captain." **If the tattoos and her borderline-breakdown in the head hadn't already convinced her, the trademark cockiness in both tone and stance sealed the deal in Athena's mind.

She of course wouldn't let any such thoughts slip. Keeping with military formality, she instead turned on her heel and marched out of Life Station, not once deigning to glance behind her to ensure her charge was following. The heat of Starbuck's glare was reassurance enough that she was. The few crewmembers who were about in the corridors again hugged the walls as the past, some of them showing recognition of the somewhat strangely attired woman behind her and all of them quickly finding other places for their eyes right then.

Not once did she feel Starbuck's eyes leave her back.

* * *

**1620 Hours GMT**

"**Colonel Thrace, Sirs."** Starbuck stepped past Athena and took in the conference room, quickly acquainting herself with its sparse features and the faces present. The large circular table and handful of semi-matching chairs were its only furnishings. The barren walls were exactly like the ones outside and all over: dark metal and a lot of indirect lighting. In comparison to the sometimes-cramped feeling the _Olympus_ had given her and sheer age and fatigue that she recalled pervaded the _Galactica_, both this room and the ship itself held all the charm of a coffin. Their brief tour with Helo hadn't dispelled most of her doubts about any of this either; she'd kept hold the party favor just in case any of those doubts proved justified.

"**Sirs,"** she nodded, more to Rice and Taylor than Tigh and Ishnay, a tad disappointed they were the only Colonials in attendance. Evidentially Helo was still busy being the XO to attend, leaving her to wonder idly how badly it would rankle Tigh if she started addressing Karl as 'Commander'. Of all the things they'd encountered to date, Saul Tigh wearing Commander's pips was the single hardest detail for her to swallow.

"**Colonel," **Admiral Rice nodded in return. Tigh and Ishnay kept their own counsel and would only glance her way as acknowledgment. She took the only remaining chair on the Terran 'side' of the table. This left her flanked by Rice on her right and Taylor on her left. The latter she noticed sat with his chair slightly pulled away from the table's edge and his right hand resting on his thigh, barely a centimeter from his own sidearm. Clearly she wasn't the only harboring a few doubts here.

Admiral Rice waited until Athena seated herself with her fellows before addressing his opposite number. **"My thanks for the use of your facilities, Commander."**

"**Our pleasure, Admiral," **the Colonial Commanded nodded again, eye fixed on the Admiral alone. **"We've learned a thing or three over the years about sharing."**

"**No doubt. Then perhaps you could share Lieutenant Ishnay's findings concerning Colonel Thrace?"** Ishnay was the only one who looked a tad uncomfortable by this. Tigh merely frowned a little harder and Athena's eyes flickered between Taylor and Starbuck. Starbuck herself simply sat back in her chair, eyes now of Ishnay and arms carefully crossed.

"**Lieutenant?"** Tigh prompted after a beat.

"**Er, yes, Sir. The X-rays and MRI all…the ones just now, all match those on file from **_**Galactica.**_**" **He glanced towards Starbuck, who gave him a frosty smile. The CMO shifted in his seat and addressed his CO more directly.

"**Perfect matches?" **Tigh asked.

"**Yes, Sir. Including the symmetrical fractures along her left proximal phalanges."** He turned back to the Terrans and traced a line across his own fingers in demonstration. **"Those are our term for the bones of the fingers between the second joint and the body of the hand itself, Admiral."**

"**I believe we use the same name for them, Lieutenant."**

"**Ah, yes…well, as I was saying." **He forcibly cleared his throat. **"She also has all the tattoos we have on record for her. And no, uh, implants or growths familiar with Cylon ****skin jobs**** either." **He looked over to Athena and asked, **"Do you know of any technology the Cylons might employ to create, um, real-time injuries for downloads?"**

"'**Real-time injuries'?" **Tigh questioned.

"**I mean injuries that match those done to a previous body…"**

"**I get it, I get it." **Tigh shook his head, chuckled, not condescendingly but apparently not taking the notion altogether seriously.

"**None that I am aware of,"** Athena answered, fixing Starbuck with a close look. Starbuck returned it, lips widening her cold smile ever so slightly. **"I'd even go so far as to say it would be impossible."**

To which Starbuck added, **"Kinda like a ****skin job**** having a child with a half-rate ECO from Canceron, huh?"**

"**Yeah. Exactly like that."** Athena's eyes fairly sparkled and she favored them all with a true smile, complete with perfect teeth tightly clenched.

Ishnay quickly stated, **"There are some, er, new fractures on her left shoulder and…well, its all here, Sir." **He finished by pushing a thin folder towards Tigh, who picked it up and in turn handed it over to Athena _without_ opening it.

"**New fractures?" **Tigh asked Starbuck, addressing her directly, which caused her grin to falter a bit.

"**Ah," **was her only immediate reply. Admiral Rice filled the breach after a guarded glance from her.

"**Colonel Thrace was ambushed by three pilots-in-training under her command about a year and a half ago."**

The three Colonials went utterly still. **"Ambushed?" **Tigh ground out as if he were spitting something foul.

"**At night, and with weapons,"** the Admiral nodded. Tigh's expression went from furious to literally murderous while Athena simply sobered and kept looking between Rice and Starbuck. The tension rolled off them both like boiling steam. Taylor found his right hand shifting instinctively towards his sidearm.

Tigh took a deep breath and ground out **"I trust these three…individuals…aren't presently serving anything other than prison term****s**** somewhere?"**

"**Oh, yes. ****V****ery, very long one****s****, I assure you." **Rice sat forward and gave his counterpart a hard look. **"As I said to Major Agathon, the Colonel here sits **_**very**_** high on our Fleet's hierarchy. The only reason she's even here with us is because I need her recommendation before we go **_**any**_** further here."**

"**Understandable,"** Tigh's familiar frown returned. **"On that score, we have a few questions of our own before continuing here."**

The Admiral apparently relaxed at this. **"Of course, Commander. You'll understand if I can't promise I'll be able to answer just anything?"**

"**Noted. But I'll first state for the record and with all of you as witnesses, that I am satisfied Colonel Thrace is indeed the career frak-up of a Viper jockey I had the distinct pleasure of having under my command until two years ago." **He heaved another breath as Rice gave him a quick nod of acceptance.

"**Noted for the record, Sir."**

Tigh sat forward, hands carefully folded in front of him. **"Then in that case, do you or the government you represent have any hostile intentions toward****s**** my crew or towards the people of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol?"**

Rice mimicked the move and replied, **"No, Commander. As I said previously the United Nations, the administrative body which I serve, has already passed a formal resolution directing me to extend diplomatic recognition to the Twelve Colonies."**

"**Are your people prepared to enter into negotiations with the Twelve Colonies for, say, trade and mutual defense?"**

"**Not I myself, obviously. But I've no doubt the Secretariat will be…anxious…to say the least to get a team up here to do exactly that."**

"**Colonel Thrace has informed you of our ultimate objective, yes?"**

Rice gave Tigh a tight but genuine smile. **"I think what you're trying to ask is…are my people the Thirteenth Colony, yes? I'd prefer to leave that one for the moment until I can discuss it with my superiors."**

"**I understand. There's really just one other question I'd like to ask right now."**

"**That is?"**

Commander Tigh fixed his remaining eye on Starbuck and asked **"Exactly how did you manage to appear to Apollo in the Ionian Nebula two years ago?"** It was a tone that would brook no falsehood or deflection.

The air went still again.

"**I…what?" **was all Starbuck could stammer.

TBC…

* * *

**Author's Endnotes:** for those wondering, yes I am taking **Crossroads Part 2** as canon and will be dealing with its many revelations in turn. Feel free to write in and tell me how crazy I am.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those still wondering:

English dialogue is in " ".

Colonial dialogue is **bolded**.

_Italicized_ dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.

**A Few Notes Before We Continue:**

Yes yes yes yes, I know. Its taken forever to get it this far. Can't apologize enough for the delays.

This all takes place two years after **Crossroads Part 2,** and will deal with all (yes, ALL) the many revelations, plot points, and audio-visual visions presented therein. And yes, that includes a quartet of supposed 'sleepers' and a newly-minted Mark II Viper on Apollo's wing.

A couple people have written in questioning why the Terrans and Colonials use the same Class Names for their ships and fighters (Battlestars and Vipers specifically). I counsel patience and to allow the story to answer those questions in turn. Believe it or not, there is a master plan behind all this.

An enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Polite" to see why.

Thanks also to everyone who has written in so far; you're what keeps this story going!

* * *

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part Eight**

* * *

"**Exactly how did you manage to appear to Apollo in the Ionian Nebula two years ago?"** Tigh repeated calmly. 

"**I…what?" **was all Starbuck could stammer again, decidedly less calmly.

Admiral Rice's reaction wasn't much more coherent. **"How...she did...what?" **He quickly shook his head and tried again. **"I'm sorry, Commander. Could you repeat that?"**

"**I asked Colonel Thrace exactly **_**how**_** she managed to appear to one of our pilots some 4,000 light years from here."**

"**When?"**

Tigh turned to Athena. **"About, what, 700 or so days ago?"**

"**733, Sir."**

Rice turned to Starbuck. **"That works out to about two years ago exactly, right?"**

"**Um,"** was her only immediate response, for she was too stunned to say anything else.

"**Colonel!"**

"**Eh? Oh, uh, yes. I mean, no, Sir. Closer to 735 days." **She frowned at Tigh and asked, **"He said he saw…me?"**

"**Commander,"** Rice insisted, **"Colonel Thrace was under medical quarantine at the time in question. Additionally**** she had no way off-planet and wasn't even **_**conscious**_**." **

Starbuck, still in a bit of a daze, asked again, **"Lee said he saw…**_**m**__**e**_**?"**

"**Are you absolutely certain...****"** the Admiral tried again, only to have Starbuck's increasingly hysterical voice override him.

"_**Lee**_** said **_**he**_** saw **_**me**_**?" **Everyone in the room visibly winced, her voice having taken on a decided edge most of them had not heard before. Rice had, but only twice; once after she'd just awakened inside quarantine at Nellis not knowing a word of English. And the other...well...

Nothing since then, not even her ambush by the trio of washouts or that brawl in the canteen with Panther had dragged her this close to complete meltdown. He knew he had to move quickly to keep her from exploding. Unfortunately, Commander Tigh responded before he could think of how to accomplish that little miracle.

"**Yes, Admiral, I'm damned sure of the time frame," **the Colonial Commander stated flatly. His voice noticeably picked up as then addressed his other subject. **"And yes, Colonel, Apollo was damned convinced he saw **_**you**_** at his wing. So much so he broke formation in front of four Basestars and refused to re-up..."**

Only the Admiral's hand on her shoulder kept Starbuck in her seat right then. She looked ready to flip the table completely over and literally go for Tigh's throat. **"As I just stated, Colonel Thrace was not capable at the time in question of flying out to meet anyone. Certainly not over 4,000 light years away."**

"**So you say," **Commander Tigh agreed after a moment, then turned to gaze again at Starbuck. **"I'd like to hear it from her."**

Starbuck seethed for several seconds before straightening herself. She gave the Admiral a small nod to indicate she was calmer and replied, **"For the record, I was **_**not**_** anywhere near the Ionian Nebula two years or two moons or two hours ago. I have been on-planet continually for the past 720 standard days."**

"**And we're just supposed to take your **_**word**_** on this, Colonel?"** Tigh looked like he was about to start laughing at the thought. Any possible merriment died at Starbuck's next action, which was to stand and pull out her sidearm. Slowly and making sure the barrel was pointed away from all present, she clearly disengaged the safety and pulled the slide back. She then placed the weapon on the table and gave it a gentle shove so it slid across to Tigh.

"**There's a live round in that,"** she stated by way of explanation. **"If my word is so worthless to you, one of you go ahead,****pick that weapon up, and shoot me."**

Tigh paled a bit at this, looking as if he'd just swallowed something poisonous. Athena was the only one able to vocalize coherently through her obvious confusion. **"What's…"**

Thrace cut off all protest by slamming both fists into the table top, knuckles first. The result was a dull 'thud' that nevertheless cut through the room like a cannon. **"I said shoot, not talk." **Her next words were addressed directly to the Commander. **"Wus' the matter? No guts? Don't got a pair?" **She leaned forward, both fists planted on the table, nostrils flaring.

Ishnay looked like he wanted to quit the room entirely and Athena actually began looking uncomfortable at the mood of the room. Tigh simply stared at the gun before him, face as blank as a professional card sharp.

"Hands on the table, Major," the Admiral murmured. Taylor, equally blank-faced as Tigh, complied with the order.

"**You're a frakkin' coward," **Starbuck added flatly, no conviction or condemnation behind it. She might as well have been reading a line from a script. **"I've got enough things to...to worry over without some one-eyed drunk thinking he can sit in judgment over me, questioning my frakkin' word."**

Tigh suddenly shot to his feet, eye still on the weapon before him. He picked it up in one hand, careful to keep it pointed well away from anyone and his finger off the trigger. He made no other move for several long beats.

"**Well?"** Starbuck prompted.

The Commander waited another moment, then pulled the slide back and ejected the round from the chamber. He then managed to eject the magazine and let it clatter to the table. Only then, did he lay the pistol back down and slide it back to its owner. Meeting her eyes once more, Tigh growled, "**Just so you know, I've been dry for two years now. ****T****he next time you draw a weapon on my officers or me, Colonel, you'd be damned ready to fire it. Understand me?" **He slid the magazine over with a slightly more vicious shove. Starbuck caught it before it slid completely off the edge.

"**Perfectly. Sir."** She slid the clip back into the casing and reset the safety, then settled it back into its holster. **"You're still a bastard, Sir."**

"**And you're still a professional frak-up." **There was a vague smile behind this. **"But damn it is...good to see you again, Captain."**

"**Likewise," **Starbuck replied with her trademark grin. She added as an afterthought, **"Colonel."**

This caused Tigh's smile to widen another hair, only for him to quickly sober. **"Tell me it wasn't you out there."**

"**It wasn't me. I swear before the Lords of Kobol, Sir, it wasn't me."**

"**Okay. I believe you." **Tigh retook his seat; Starbuck following suit. The rest of the room immediately breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Admiral Rice sat forward. **"If that's all settled, perhaps we can get back to discussing more immediate issues? Anyone have any objections?" **

* * *

**1830 Hours GMT**

**Owl 71**

**Parked in Hanger Deck One**

Sergeant Guarland kept his hand on his sidearm as he responded to the pounding on the hatch. "Who goes there?"

"Me, Sarge," Lewis's voice drifted past the metal.

"Arnhem along the Rhine," Guarland challenged again.

"Vicksburg along the Mississippi."

Guarland let out a relieved breath and unlocked the hatch, pushing it open to admit his fellow Marine. He wasn't altogether surprised to see three Colonial Marines with him, two of them carrying elements of the DNA scanner. "Hey, Sarge," Lewis greeted.

"Corporal. New orders?"

"Just that I relieve you down here so you can get cleaned and changed." Guarland stepped aside to allow Lewis in. The Colonials made no move to follow. They set down the equipment they carried within easy reach of the shuttle's hatch, and then stepped back. Guarland took the hint and grabbed up the two pieces, lifting each in turn to Lewis. Once both were stowed away, he climbed back into the shuttle and rejoined his fellow inside.

"Payload package still secure?" Lewis asked.

"Everything's green." Guarland handed over a small slip of metal, then grabbed up his own travel pack and turned back to the hatchway, pausing at the sight of a female Marine standing there with an odd look on her face. **"Ma'am?"**

"**Anything we need to move, Sir?"**

"**No, nothing. I just need an escort to the head." **

"**If you'll follow us?" **

The Colonial stepped out of sight and Guarland quickly turned to his subordinate. "Lock the hatch down and keep the key ready," he ordered quietly.

"Aye-aye," Lewis replied equally quietly. Guarland didn't speak another word as he allowed the Colonials to escort him off. Lewis simply shut the hatch and re-engaged the locks. He rechecked both his sidearm and HK-MP12 semiautomatic, ensuring the magazines were charged up and that the weapon was within easy reach. These chores done, he settled down to what was likely to be a boring and cramped sentry duty.

He'd just sat down when the comms board began to flash and ejected a small slip of hardcopy. Lewis tore it free, disciplining himself to read only the topmost line. It was nearly enough to send him running from his assigned post and make a beeline for the Admiral. Fortunately, his training was equally quick to reassert itself, keeping him in his chair and moving his free hand to open an internal channel to the Admiral and Colonel. "Admiral Rice, Corporal Lewis."

"_Cairo__ along the Nile."_

"Manhattan on the Hudson."

"_Yes, Corporal?" _the Admiral responded a second later.

"Sir, we've received a priority message from _Olympus _Actual."

"_Eyes Only?"_

"No, Sir. It's in the clear but is case-coded."

"_One moment. Colonel Thrace?"_

"_I'm on," _Starbuck's voice chimed in.

"_Very well. Corporal Lewis, read the message."_

"Aye, Sir. Message begins, 'Case amendment M on desk. Reduction of current stance to follow this message. Level the playing field until arrival of Doc Franklin. Only proviso: Mustang must return to the barn.' Message ends there, Sir."

"_Understood. Where's__ Sergeant__ Guarland?"_

"The Colonial Marines who assisted me transporting the equipment were escorting him to the head. I have the payload key and the shuttle is secure."

"_You are to stand by for further instructions. Rice clear."_

Lewis returned to his original seat nearer the back, again making sure his semiautomatic was in easy reach and that the arming key for the payload was in his right breast pocket. He made a further point _not_ to look behind him at precisely _what_ that key fit into and armed.

He sat there, guarding the unthinkable against the unimaginable.

* * *

**Conference Beta**

"Perfect timing," the Admiral muttered to himself as he removed his earpiece. The look he exchanged with Colonel Thrace was equal parts resignation and relief, with just a smidgen of barely concealed excitement.

"**Admiral?" **Tigh called over, sounding audibly aggrieved at their discussion being suddenly interrupted.

"**My apologies, Commander. We were just notified of a transmission from our…home base, as it were."**

"**Anything you can share?"**

Rice gave another glance toward Starbuck, who simply stared straight ahead. 'Oh, joy,' was the Admiral's only thought. Aloud he said, **"I…we have been informed a senior diplomatic team is en route. We are to prepare for their arrival."**

"**Meaning what precisely?" **

The phone mounted on the wall behind them chimed softly. Athena was up and answering it before the second chime could finish.

"**Do I have your word you harbor no aggressive intentions against us?"**

Before Tigh could answer, Athena calmly stepped over to him and whispered something into his ear. Tigh showed no visible reaction to whatever it was, beyond a short nod and microsecond glance towards them. He then leaned forward and asked, **"Do I have **_**your**_** word that you aren't going to detonate the nuclear weapon you have aboard your shuttle?"**

By rights, Rice and Thrace both should have felt at least mildly worried that the payload had been detected, never mind actually being addressed so directly. Yet, their only reaction was a shared and audible sigh of relief. At a quick nod from the Admiral, Starbuck uncrossed her arms and pulled a small tubelike object from her sleeve.

Athena's eyebrows climbed, while Tigh simply looked even more irritated. **"You gave **_**her**_** the trigger to a nuclear weapon?" **he sputtered.

The Admiral shrugged. **"She knows your people better than we do," **he stated without a hint of apology. **"How did you, er, detect it?"**

"**Uh, one of my Marines overheard your men talking. We may not get your native language, yet, but she could make out something with a nuke ****symbol**** painted on it." **Tigh smirked a bit. **"Plus**** our internal sensor sweep picked up a low-grade radiation signature on your ship. Didn't think anything of it until ****Sergeant ****Matthias ****reported**** what she saw."**

"**Hope we haven't offended."**

"**I'd be more offended if you weren't taking precautions." **His face hardened to his familiar scowl. **"But with all due respect, Admiral. You gave the ****trigger**** to...**_**her**_**?" **His voice wasn't so much irritation or disbelief or even anger but some odd combination of that and more. He could almost detect a smidgen of actual pride in there as well.

"**As I said**** she knows your people better than we do." **It was his turn to smirk now. **"Plus, she claimed Blood Rites on any toasters who jumped into this system. I don't need to elaborate, do I?"**

"**No. Not at all." **Tigh went quiet for a few moments.

"**So, Admiral, where do you suggest we go from here?"**

"**I have a couple suggestions, if you'd be amenable that is," **Rice replied after a quiet moment's thought of his own.

* * *

Starbuck's exclamation echoed two corridors down. 

"You want to do...what!"

* * *

**1705 Hours GMT**

_**Olympus **_**CIC**

The tension on the bridge had receded to an omnipresent anxiety some hours back. The periodic check-ins from Owl 71 by either Guarland or Lewis didn't reassure anyone. The complete lack of recent communication from either Rice or Thrace since the former's rather ambiguous communiqué about changing the Alert Case over an hour ago didn't help either.

Richard Avery-Hunter had a reputation for being a man of seemingly infinite patience and unbreakable discipline. This was not without basis and both qualities had served him well over the last twenty years. He'd long since tuned out the background noise of the bridge, giving all his attention to the many bits of information on the main AEGIS display, though in truth he consciously absorbed very little of it.

Right then it was taking all his concentration to keep from throwing his coffee mug into the main display board and curse until the air was a deep shade of blue.

"Commander?" Lieutenant Samson's voice cut through his preoccupation. "Sir?"

"What is it?"

"Incoming transmission from Owl 71, Commander. Colonel Thrace requesting to speak to you specifically," Lieutenant Samson reported.

The CO resisted the sudden urge to sigh in relief. He'd welcome bad news at this point. "Pipe it through to my handset."

"Done, Sir." Both the Commander and Colonel Callisto (who had just returned from 'stepping up deck' and was waved over to the Planning Desk by the Commander) picked up their respective handsets.

"_Actual, Starbuck,"_ Thrace's almost ghostly voice stated.

"Starbuck, Actual. Cairo on the Nile."

"_Paris on the Seine."_

Now Avery-Hunter did sigh in relief, which was echoed by Callisto. "Okay, go ahead, Colonel."

"_I am finishing preflight and will be departing __**Nemesis**__. You should be seeing us any second." _Both Terrans looked back to the AEGIS board, seeing a new contact pull away from the more menacing form of Basestar.

"Stand by, Colonel." They lowered their handsets and Avery-Hunter called over, "Sorrenson, confirm who that is."

"Yes, Sir," the Specialist quickly nodded. "AEGIS confirms it matches Owl 71's silhouette. Beeping our transponder as well."

"Samson, direct Red Wing to escort the Owl back to the Barn." The CO didn't wait for confirmation, instead raising his handset and stating, "We have you on the Board, Colonel. Let me speak to the Admiral."

"_He's...not with us, Commander."_

"Excuse me?"

"_Admiral Rice has elected to remain aboard the __**Nemesis.**__"_

Avery-Hunter could see Callisto's jaw suddenly tightening against what was sure to be a colorful outburst. He'd had to bite down quickly on some bad words of his own.Aloud he said, "Let me get this straight, Colonel; Admiral Rice is still aboard the Basestar, by choice. This is what you are telling me?"

"_Affirmative. For the record, I protested this decision."_

"I'll bet," Callisto muttered aloud.

"_What was that, Actual?"_

"Nothing, Colonel. Nothing at all." The CO took a second to gather his wits and wonder how he hadn't seen this little scenario coming. He'd seen the last communiqué from the Secretary General and had known what she was ordering Rice to accomplish. Quite honestly, he'd been more focused on the last line of it at the time than the rest of it. Still, the fact his superior had effectively just surrendered himself as a diplomatic hostage irked him mightily right then. All the more so because he knew this was exactly the sort of move Theodore Lysander Rice would pull in these circumstances. He'd served with the man long enough to know.

Recriminations, both justified and otherwise, would have to wait. He knew the Admiral wouldn't have taken this step lightly. "Who else is there with him?"

"_Guarland and Lewis are there as well. As is the party favor."_

Callisto grinned wickedly at this news while Avery-Hunter kept his poker face. "Are they aware of it?"

"_Affirmative, Commander. It was detected and we confirmed as per instructions."_

"Okay, so they've got three of ours. Who are they sending in exchange?"

"_Their third in command and acting CAG, Captain Sharon Agathon. Plus a Mr. Jonah Carroq, a civilian engineer from Canceron."_

"That's it?" Callisto asked directly.

"_That's it, Colonel. Athena is sitting shotgun with me right now."_

"Okay, fine. You've got Red Wing escorting you in. We're prepping Bay Two for you now." The CO snapped his fingers at Callisto, who quickly nodded in understanding as she reset the channel on her handset. More quietly, he asked, "Assessment?"

"_Ninety-nine percent convinced, Sir."_

"Still holding out?"

"_Until I see the Bucket itself jump into sight and talk to the Old Man, that's as high as I'm willing to go."_

"Understood. _Olympus_ Actual, clear."

* * *

**Owl 71, en route**

"Starbuck, clear." Thrace tapped the earpiece of her headset, switching from the external to internal channel. **"You catch all that?"** she asked of her temporary co-pilot.

"**Yeah, not that I understood a word of it."**

"**Right,"** Starbuck drawled.

"**Okay, okay. I heard my name, Carroq's name, and **_**Nemesis**_ **a few times. The rest of it sounded like brain-damaged grunting. I'm trusting there are actual Colonial speakers on your ship."**

"**A couple. Hey, eyes left."** Athena turned in her chair, eyes widening as the Mark IV Vipers of Red Wing approached and took up escorting positions around and before them.

"**Whoa, sleek," **she whistled appreciatively.

"**Yeah, that they are. Not bad considering they've had Vipers in production for just over a year and a half."**

"**Oh, really?"**

"**Well, a little over that. They only had the wreckage of the plane I landed in to work from."**

"**Really?"**

"**Really. Hold on now, kids. We're going into the 'Belt."**

With deft hands, Starbuck guided the shuttle into the dusty body of the Asteroid Belt, its escorts mirroring its course and speed perfectly. The smaller ships were quickly gone from sight, as if swallowed whole by the celestial fog. The Owl had a lean fuselage like the Vipers, allowing it to cut through the 'Belt as if it were nothing but empty space. Their passage through it wasn't without its occasional bump or sudden shift of course, but clearly, Starbuck's skills behind the stick were sharp as ever.

Athena took the time to study her surroundings, the layout of the controls before her, check behind her to ensure Carroq was still with them; anything and everything to _avoid_ looking at her former shipmate. She feared she wouldn't be able to look away. Fortunately, the trip proved far shorter than she'd anticipated, with the Owl quickly clearing the asteroids and the Vipers on its metaphorical heels.

Starbuck spoke into her headset, lapsing into English. "_Olympus_ Flight Control, Owl 71. Come back?"

What was waiting for them there – one thousand, two hundred and five feet of metal hanging there like some massive predator lying in wait in the void - had _no _difficulty in holding Athena's attention as they approached.

* * *

**1927 Hours GMT**

If either Athena or the lanky Mr. Carroq were in any way disappointed at or worried by the reception they experienced, neither showed it. Given that the whole of Landing Bay Two was sealed in several layers of plastic sheeting, beyond which several bulky and vaguely menacing figures moved back and forth, their restraint was admirable. Even more so given the brusque manner in which several Terrans in Hazmat suits had drawn still more blood from them all. After which the four of them were left to sit at the small tables that had been set up for them.

Even the unflappable Major Taylor seemed a tad put out by such treatment. He quickly shook it off and engaged Carroq in a game of Triad, proceeding to show off his skills as a cardsharp. Carroq was apparently no novice at the game either and it soon became a contest between which of them had the blanker 'game face'.

Starbuck found herself taken back to memories of her first time waking up planet side. Despite the best efforts of the medical staff at Nellis, it hadn't been smooth or pretty for anyone. She quickly moved to damp down the memories by physically moving to take the chair opposite Athena, who had declined to join in the game.

"So," she began, straddling the chair and folding her arms on the back.

"**So,"** Athena echoed, not meeting her eyes just yet.

"**I think we've got some unfinished business to discuss."**

This drew Athena's entire attention to her. **"Really?"** she asked, sounding skeptical.

"**Really."** Starbuck put her long practiced 'don't-think-of-frakking-with-me' expression on and leaned forward. Voice dropping a few octaves, she added, **"So, how about we can the shit, and you tell me what the **_**real**_** story is." **

**TBC...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those still wondering:

English dialogue is in "".

**Colonial dialogue is bolded.**

_Italicized_ dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.

With enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Polite" to see why. Thanks also to everyone who has written in so far; you're what keeps this story going!

* * *

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

* * *

**2150 Hours GMT**

Their quarantine ended without formal announcement or undue excitement. Their isolation was interrupted only by the occasional visit of a Terran crewmember clad in full biohazard gear, and the further taking of blood and tissue samples. Taylor and Carroq passed the time with their card games, both winning as often as the other lost. Starbuck probed Athena with the sort of aggressiveness her earlier demand had only hinted at. Were it not for Tigh's own directive to hide nothing from her, Sharon would have taxed her not inconsiderable imagination to keep certain things unspoken.

As it was, she was privately grateful when quarantine ended. The surrounding plastic walls were taken down with practiced efficiency and two senior officers were escorted into sight by with a half-dozen Marines in fatigues wearing sidearms. The shorter of the two called out in strangely accented Colonial "Commander on deck." Taylor quickly got to his feet at their arrival, Starbuck following suit a beat later. Her eyes however did not leave Sharon's vicinity, equal parts disbelief and despair radiating from her at that point. Athena took the opportunity to look away from the devastation her news had wrought on her former shipmate in order to study the new arrivals.

The female Marine, who had originally announced their presence, moved in first carrying herself with the sort of barely-leashed aggression she had only encountered with Starbuck herself. However, she moved with such a predatory confidence that it made Sharon more than slightly nervous. Her tight expression weren't much more reassuring, though the nod she gave them all seemed intended to do so.

The man however dominated her attention the instant he stepped into sight. He gave a quick nod to both Taylor and Starbuck, snapping a formal salute that Sharon could see was more directed toward her than the rest. **"Captain Agathon?"** he asked calmly, but with an undercurrent of stern authority she usually associated with William Adama. Athena instinctively came to attention and returned the salute.

"**Captain Sharon Agathon, **S**ir. My civilian colleague, Mr. Carroq." **

"**Commander Avery-Hunter, Captain, Mr. Carroq. With me is my Executive Officer, Lieutenant-Commander Callisto. Let me welcome you both aboard the **_**Olympus**_**." **He offered her a tight grin and added, **"I think I speak for both my crew and fleet in saying...we never dared hope to actually meet you." **

Sharon didn't know how to respond to this, but fortunately was spared the need to as the Commander turned toward Taylor and Starbuck. **"Major, Colonel. Welcome back both you. Major?"**

"**Sir."**

"**Have your report ready within the hour for review by myself and the XO. I believe Captain Chang also has some matter to discuss with you concerning your Marines. Please see to your business."**

"**Aye, ****S****ir. Ma'am." **Taylor gave Avery-Hunter and his companion a crisp salute then quickly quit the area.

"**Colonel Thrace,"** the Commander nodded. Starbuck gave herself a small shake before she responded.

"**Sir?" **

"**I believe you have some business to attend to. Please have your report ready for us by **0**800 hours. Lieutenant Mahan is waiting for you back in your quarters."**

"**Er, yes, ****S****ir. Um, with your permission?"**

"**Of course."** With that, Starbuck walked-stumbled away, looking uncharacteristically lost. No sooner was she away than Callisto snapped her fingers towards the trio of Marines who had been hovering in the background. All three fell in behind the pilot. Sharon bit her lip, watching her leave.

The Commander's voice brought her attention back to their immediate surroundings. **"I realize this has likely been a...stressful day for you both. May I offer you both quarters where you can rest for a bit before we continue discussions?"**

Athena nodded after seeing Carroq offer an agreeing nod of his own. **"That would be fine, ****S****ir."**

"**Would you feel better in joint quarters or separate?"** Callisto asked.

"**Whatever you have available will be fine with us, sir." **

"**See to it, XO,"** the Commander ordered and saluted them again, then turned on his heel and marched away.

"**Aye-aye. Captain, Mr. Carroq? This way**,** if you please?" **Callisto gestured to a different direction than the Commander and the other had departed through. Knowing better than to ask the obvious, Athena and Carroq let themselves be led across the hanger deck. This not coincidentally allowed them see several flight crews working on fighters that bore strikingly close similarities to Mark VII Vipers, albeit ones looking far smoother and cleaner than they were used to. There were also several darker, even leaner looking ships further back.

The unspoken statement was not lost on either.

That was only the first of several subtle surprises waiting them as they moved through the Terran ship's corridors.

Carroq chose to break his extended silence a short bit later. He said to their guide's back, **"I'd like to compliment you on your command of our language, Commander."**

"**Thank you, Mr. Carroq. Although I should clarify two things. First, your language is very similar to my native tongue. Which I should mention is not the 'universal' dialect of our world. And second my rank is actually Lieutenant-Commander, which is analogous to a Colonel in the Colonial rank structure."**

This prompted Athena to ask, **"Then why doesn't Starbuck have the same rank as ****you****?"**

"**Ah, Colonel Thrace is a very...special case, shall we say. She is not technically a Fleet officer. Rather she's attached to the Fleet's Marine Corps."**

"**Your Admiral Rice made it sound as if she were, well, irreplaceable to your fleet."**

"**Oh, believe me, she is. ****No one**** in our Fleet can match her hours of experience in aerospace combat and operations. Normally she's restricted to flight instruction planetside. Her being up here at this time is more a personal favor to the Secretariat than a matter of policy."**

"**How so?" **Athena asked.

"**She promised to do bodily harm to both the civilian head and several senior ratings of the Service if she wasn't allowed to personally test the new Mark Fives up here."**

"_**That**_** sounds like Starbuck," **Athena chuckled. Carroq broke a grin, having heard his own share of stories concerning the Fleet's most celebrated viper jock.

Callisto remained as serious as ever. **"To be fair, Captain, it's a sentiment shared by most of the uniformed officers of our fleet and most of the civilian leadership. Most of us were hoping she would follow through on her promises to geld the Secretary of Defense."** She paused and frowned slightly. **"You are familiar with the term?"**

"**Yes,"** Athena nodded, trying hard to keep from laughing outright.

"**Very well. If at any time I use terminology unfamiliar to you, please let me know. Our familiarity with Colonial Standard is purely through Colonel Thrace."**

"**Understood,"** Athena nodded and took a moment to glance about them right then.

The corridors looked eerily like those aboard the _Galactica_, but were far more sparsely populated and nowhere near as cluttered. The crewmembers moving here or there were dressed either in functional gray fatigues or in dark blue uniforms resembling her own dress blues. Everyone, however, was wearing berets of different colors, ranging from black to green to dark orange. The few who were bareheaded had their berets in clear display under their shoulder boards.

Athena had gotten a good look at the _Olympus _before they'd landed. After getting over her initial shock at how the ship closely resembled a _Mercury_-class battlestar, albeit a rather smaller one, she had tried to calculate just how many crew and Vipers it might carry. She had to give that up simply because she knew too little about how advanced the ship was in relation to either the _Galactica_ or the _Nemesis,_ for that matter. The lack of automation and computer networking meant the _Galactica_ needed no less than 2,000 crew to keep her running. _Nemesis_ could get by just under a 1,000 simply because they weren't utilizing the ship to its fullest capacity.

If the comparative lack of hustle-and-bustle here was any indication, either these people were risking the same mistakes that had destroyed the Colonial Fleet _or_ they were a hundred times more efficient in their work than they looked.

She decided to risk another question to their guide. **"How long have your people been in space?"**

"**Captain?"**

"**You said Starbuck has the most space combat within your fleet. That suggests you haven't had space travel for very long."**

Callisto gave them a look that was equal parts smirk and scowl. "Hmph. Should watch my damned mouth," she chastised herself in English, and then continued in Colonial. **"We've had extra-atmospheric flight capacity for a bit over one hundred years. It's only been in the last thirty that we've gotten over certain...political hurdles...that have otherwise impeded progress."**

"**Feuding colonies?"**

"**More like feuding continents." **Callisto quickly added **"I'd ask you save further questions for the diplomatic unit which is presently en route. I'm simply not the best person to ****answer**** these questions."**

"**You seem fairly knowledgeable,"** Carroq noted.

Athena said, **"I believe the Lieutenant-Commander is more worried about security matters than anything else, correct?"**

"**Correct, Captain. While Colonel Thrace is inclined to give the benefit of the doubt to your people, I am not." **She gave Athena a very hard stare. **"Do we understand each other?"**

"**Perfectly, ma'am."** Athena had the momentary urge to salute the shorter woman.

"**Very good,"** Callisto nodded and turned away. The rest of their short journey was silent, although a not uncomfortable one. The atmosphere between them was more one of a mild anticipation than anxiety. Callisto struck both Athena and Carroq as the sort of officer Tigh and even Admiral Adama would get along with. The same with her superior.

Both hoped they would have the opportunity to see for themselves soon.

* * *

**2230 Hours GMT**

**CCAW Quarters**

It took Starbuck several long moments to remember what happened to her.

The fact she was lying on her side on a rather cold surface was her first clue. The way her throat felt raw and her stomach churned unpleasantly was another.

Her vision cleared enough after a few more beats, letting her see she was in her cabin's private head. More specifically, she was wedged at an angle between the wall and the toilet, which explained why her neck was in such pain.

Carefully moving herself upright, Kara searched her memories for some explanation of how she ended up in this position. Her memories were fairly clear up to the time when they'd landed back on the _Olympus_, and how she'd calmly left everything after quarantine was terminated. It was a bit fuzzy between these two bookends, as well as when she'd managed to return to her cabin.

Oh, yeah. She'd been talking to Athena. But about what? Something about the _Galactica_...no, no. About the _Nemesis_. She hadn't entirely bought that story about finding it derelict. There had to be more to it than the toasters getting careless with their basestars.

And she'd been _right_. There had been more to it.

Now if she could just remember what it was.

Something about more skinjobs first being found in the Fleet. Two of them. Athena had tried to dodge identifying who they were and almost managed it, nearly distracting her by telling her about Baltar's trial and his pet skinjob trying to get in good with the Admiral.

Kara had gone along with it simply to see how serious Athena was about avoiding it. She stood a better chance of beating her in Triad holding nothing but a two pair against full colors.

She ultimately got the names of these new skinjobs. She didn't know Tori Foster beyond her name, so it wasn't nearly a shock. But the other one...for some reason her mind shied away from recalling it. Started with an "S". Diana Seelix? No, it was somebody's _first_ name. Whom did she know **who** fit that description?

Saul Tigh? That was a laugh. Nobody in the Fleet, herself included, hated the toasters more.

The name came unbidden. Sam. _Sammy_. Sam Anders.

Her husband.

It was like an explosive round going off inside her head.

She kept her eyes shut. If she didn't open her eyes, she wouldn't have to acknowledge where she was, or what she'd been told.

It hit her gut a heartbeat later, leaving her doubled over the toilet again. There was nothing left for her retch up, causing her to moan more than cough. She stayed there the nausea abated.

Kara took a breath to thank the gods she'd ordered Mahn to leave the minute she'd marched through the door. She was alone.

She stayed there, holding her breath, waiting for unconsciousness to hit again.

It proved a short wait for her.

* * *

**2322 Hours GMT**

**CO's Quarters**

"Enter," Commander Avery-Hunter barked out as his door chime sounded. He didn't take his eyes from his desk's viewscreen, **where he was **watching the Road Runner watch Willey E. Coyote falling from yet another mesa in the desert. His XO stepped inside as he scribbled a few notes onto an already heavily scribbled-over manuscript before him.

"I thought the CMO ordered you to rest," Callisto said to him as soon as the door shut. Avery-Hunter didn't even blink at her words or disapproving tone.

"I am resting."

"Working on your dissertation is rest?"

The CO simply shrugged and paused the recording, catching Willey E just as he was climbing aboard an oversized catapult stamped 'Acme Super Sling'. "Just catching a few extra insights."

He hadn't been the only one ordered to rest by the flight surgeon. The fact was both of them had been on the Bridge since Thrace had launched on her first patrol and this insanity began nearly 23 hours ago. At this point, they were both holding themselves upright by sheer force of will and entirely too much caffeine. The ship's CMO had been present when Major Taylor had handed over his two-page report recounting their time aboard the _Nemesis_. He promptly ordered the three of them to retire to their cabins and not even _think_ about returning to the bridge until 0700 hours tomorrow.

Neither of them were fool enough to argue and their Operations Officer, Lieutenant Commander Grossman, was more than capable to standing in for them for a few hours. Neither of them were the sort to sit idle, either.

Callisto gave a loud sigh and the nearest chair. "Still pushing the whole civilization-versus-nature angle?"

Avery-Hunter grunted and wrote another note. It never ceased to puzzle and amuse Callisto how her commanding officer had decided to write his doctorate on a history of animated cinema, the central thesis being it was a reflection writ large of the inherent tension between the chaotic power of 'nature' and humanity's constant struggle to subdue and 'civilize' it. He'd somehow managed to fill some three hundred pages making the case that Willey E. Coyote was, contra to first impressions, the literate and tool-using product of a coherent social hierarchy, and therefore 'civilized'. The Road Runner by contrast was nothing more than a wild animal, completely oblivious to the chaos it leaves in its super-sonic wake and possessing neither opposable thumb nor the slightest hint of culture, and therefore was 'uncivilized'.

Of course, it was never clear precisely why the Coyote was so fixated with that hyperactive (and anorexic) bird anyway. Or for that matter why every rocket and catapult he got from the Acme Corporation malfunctioned so spectacularly. The same could be argued with pretty much every other human endeavor this side of the discovery of fire and construction of the wheel. The Blight was proof enough of that; Callisto wondered if that bit of social commentary was going to be in the final printing.

She noticed Avery-Hunter had switched the viewscreen off and was watching her expectantly. She'd come with Taylor's report in hand and took the silent hint.

"If this is a Cylon trick, it's got to be in the running for the Rube Goldberg prize of strategies." Callisto shook her head and glanced over the pages. "If, however, we believe what Taylor is reporting…then something very, very bad happened out there. And we have no fuckin' clue what it was." She sounded tired now.

"What about the recordings from while they were in quarantine?"

"ISA says it'll take another six hours plus to isolate and transcribe the respective voices. Collins has given it red priority."

"There's that. Impressions on our guests?"

"Agathon's sharp. She kept her questions general and just watched everything. Carroq too."

"Well they are supposed to be observers. Given what we know about Tigh, he wouldn't go sending idiots."

"Maybe so, but there's something about these two…"

"What?"

Callisto sighed and gave herself a small shake. "I'm not sure. They're just…"

"What?"

"Don't know. Just got a bad feeling here." A yawn escaped her otherwise firm control.

"Or you're just exhausted as I am." Avery-Hunter stood and scrubbed his face with both hands. "Where'd you put them?"

"The quarters on C Deck."

"The standalones?"

"Yup. No direct data connections with the rest of the ship, and the callbox is strictly hardwire." Another yawn escaped. "Sorry, Sir."

"Off to bed with you. That's an order. I want at least one of us to have a clear head when Starbuck gives her report."

"I'm worried about her," Callisto stated as she headed for the hatch.

"You always are."

"Can't argue that." She grinned as she let herself out.

Commander Avery-Hunter remained where he was for several more beats, with both fists resting on his desk. He drummed his knuckles on the papers there, tapping out an uneven beat, then moved off to his own rack and some much-needed shut-eye.

* * *

**2312 Hours GMT**

**Guest Quarters, Colonial Basestar _Nemesis_**

Admiral Rice sat on the simple cot in the simple quarters he and his men had been given for the night. His legs were outstretched before him, with his feet (sans boots) resting atop the latched black carrycase containing the 'party favor'.

Sergeant Guarland had insisted standing first watch outside the door, agreeing that Lewis would relieve him in four hours time, the latter lying in a second cot near the room's only door. The Colonials had appeared understanding about this, with Commander Tigh going so far as to order the corridor outside cleared and all personnel relocated elsewhere. The presence of the 'party favor', despite the fact no-one identified the large case the Terran Marines had carried between them to their shared quarters, seemed to cast its own shadow here.

Rice found himself unable to sleep, his mind awhirl in too many directions. He could only wonder at the pace at which things were developing here. It was the same heady mix of anticipation and dread as when he'd first laid eyes on the massive find in Alaska over twenty years ago…as well as when he'd watched the fire control and rescue teams ease that limp body out of that burning Viper on the Nellis runway just 25 months ago.

He didn't dare let his thoughts drift further, childhood injunctions against pride coming to mind. While not particularly religious, Theodore Rice wasn't fool enough to think there wasn't…_something_…larger than them all Out There. And damned if he was going to _think_ for even a minute that he could divine it all.

Therefore, he sat there and let himself wonder at it all.

And, in time, he too drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**2330 Hours GMT**

**Secure Command Center 'Babel', Earth**

Undersecretary Robert Cornwell watched the main display screen pensively while his aide collected and summarized the latest status reports from the workstations around them. He could only sit back and watch as the staff he had handpicked and trained for precisely this eventuality went about their jobs. In a real sense, he was utterly superfluous to the work going on and knew it.

"What the hell are you doing to me, Ted?" Cornwell muttered to himself for Gods-knew-how-many-times in the last six hours. His heart hadn't quite settled since receiving word from _Olympus_ reporting Rice had in effect given himself over as a diplomatic hostage to the Colonials, if indeed that's who they really were. Starbuck was evidentially withholding final judgment on that score, and nobody in the Secretariat was willing to override her.

Just about the only good news in all this was that Starbuck herself was back aboard the _Olympus_. Secretary of State Richards was already en route aboard the _Bouhuchan_ and likely already knew that bit of happy news. He'd been a terror since learning Starbuck had slipped off-planet last week _without_ him knowing about it first.

He looked at the main board again, noting to himself that the _Olympus, Bouhuchan, _and _Asgard _were all where they should be. Sub-screens gave updates on the installations on Luna and Mars, both in the green and as ready as they could be.

If all went according to projections, Richards would be aboard the _Olympus _by seven tomorrow morning and take over matters.

Cornwell almost found himself wishing he could be there for the fireworks. He had to swallow a nervous laugh at the prospect before Marcel gave him another _look_. The last thing he wanted or needed was to infect the rest of his staff with his anxieties.

* * *

**2335 Hours GMT**

**Commanders Quarters, ****Colonial**** Basestar **_**Nemesis**_

As soon as he'd seen the Terrans settled into secure quarters, with the customary dire promises to the Marines detailed to keep them safe, Tigh had gone directly to his cabin and left the ship in Helo's capable hands. Agathon was a good man and a good officer. He'd do right by the crew.

As soon as he reached his quarters he stripped completely down and went into the head, his sidearm in one hand and both pillows from his bed** in the other**. He stepped into the show and pressed himself against the cold wall, carefully covering his gun hand with the pillows.

"C'mon you frakking drunk coward," he hissed to himself, barely able to keep his shaking hands under control. "Do somethin**g** right f**o**r a change!"

There was nothing else for it. He'd tried to think of another way, _any_ way to avoid this since hearing Starbuck's voice over the wireless. Unsurprisingly, nothing had come to mind. No brilliant plan or ideas from outside the tiny, tight little box he lived in.

He'd be damned by Hades himself before he'd risk leading the Cylons here. Oh, he and the Chief had a very, very good idea what happened aboard this ship before they chanced across it. But there were no guarantees those other…_two_…would keep them at bay forever.

No, better to remove the danger entirely. Or try to at least.

"Lords of Kobol," Tigh whispered to himself as he pressed the barrel to his chest. "I know I'm not one of your children, and a damned lousy excuse of life itself, but…please protect for your…protect my people here…_please_ let this work…"

He shut his remaining eye and concentrated on keeping his hands still.

Had anyone been passing in the corridor outside the door, they _might_ have heard a muffled "crack", and an equally muffled "thud" coming from the Commander's quarters.

But no one was in the corridor to hear such things.

* * *

**2345 Hours GMT**

**CCAW Quarters, Battlestar **_**Olympus**_

Starbuck came to with a start, head aching but otherwise not in any real pain. She looked about as she struggled to sit up, and felt not a little relieved that there was no blood in evidence with her little breakdown. She was still more relieved to find she was still alone, having no wish to try explaining this to her personal mother hen.

Only once she regained her slightly unsteady footing did she notice there was someone else there with her. Leoben was staring at her from inside the shower, brawny arms crossed and a disapproving frown on his face.

"I don't want to hear it," Kara growled with a glare and stalked out of the head. She quickly went to the travel fridge in the stateroom and cracked open an icepack, pressing it against her aching head. Turning around she found Leoben now reclining on the loveseat nearby, still frowning.

She declined to even acknowledge his presence. Instead, she sat at her desk to begin the report that was due to the CO in eight hours. The words came surprisingly easy to her. Certainly it made it easy to ignore the glowering phantom just a few paces away.

The door chime sounded, causing her to look up and call out, "Yes?"

"_Lieutenant Mahn, Sir."_

Kara stood and looked around, making sure Leoben truly was gone from sight, then went to the door and flipped the lock. As expected, Lieutenant Mahn was waiting at attention.

And she wasn't alone.

* * *

**2352 Hours GMT**

**Guest Quarters, Deck C, Terran Battlestar **_**Olympus**_

Captain Sharon Agathon lay on her back on her almost-too-comfortable bed, staring at the bare ceiling of the simple cabin she and Carroq had been assigned.

She stared upwards, and silently counted to one hundred. It was her third such repetition.

The only sound in the cabin was Carroq's throaty snores. Only her Oath as an Officer in the Colonial Fleet kept Athena from crushing the man's windpipe like cardboard.

She sighed, threw an arm over her eyes, and began counting again.

* * *

**2359 Hours GMT**

**CIC, Terran Battlestar **_**Olympus**_

Lieutenant Commander Pieter Grossman stood at the planning desk, glancing among the various AEGIS displays and mentally noted the positions of the ships being tracked.

He took a single long sip from his coffee mug and typed into a smaller screen set into the desk, making the necessary entry into the ship's logs.

0001 GMT / 21-July-2069

Recording: Lt.Cmdr Grossman, Senior Officer of the Watch

Case ZULU-Beta still stationary, no sign of hostile launches

Ship remains at Condition Two/Alert Two

Gold Wing on CAP 1; Silver Wing on Alert Deck

First Watch remains on elevated alert

Anticipate rendezvous with _Bouhuchan_ by 0700 GMT today

This chore done, Grossman closed the log terminal and turned his attention back the main displays. "Twelve o'clock and all is vell," he muttered to himself with his typical Bavarian humor.

* * *

**21 July 2069 Common Era**

**0755 Hours GMT**

**Conference Room Delta, "D" Deck**

**Terran Battlestar **_**Olympus**_

Wearing a fresh uniform and her beret carefully perched atop her head, Colonel Kara Thrace marched into the long conference room normally reserved for meetings of all department heads. She'd seen it only once, when she and Rice had first come aboard seven days ago and the CO had seen fit to throw them a casual reception. It actually seemed far bigger back then, even when it was stuffed to the gills with officers and enlisted.

Walking in right then, seeing the three people occupying it, it suddenly felt a small as a Viper's cockpit. That Commander Avery-Hunter and Lieutenant Commander Callisto were both there was no surprise. The surprise came in the form of the third person, a civilian in a dark suit and loosened tie, his bright eyes focusing upon a transcript sitting before him.

Starbuck was fooled for a second by his seeming calm. After over a year-and-a-half of virtual co-habitation, she knew him entirely too well.

She quickly came to attention and snapped off a parade-worthy salute. "Commander. Mr. Secretary."

"Stand at ease, Colonel," Avery-Hunter nodded, his attention remaining fixed on the civilian, who continued to page through the transcript. Callisto just looked uncomfortable, which was unusual for her, to say the least.

Secretary of State Benjamin Richards turned yet another page and asked, "Is that your report, Colonel?"

"Yes...sir." Starbuck flinched at her momentary hesitation, momentarily stunned by the implications of Richard's presence.

She'd known the Secretariat was sending in senior people; Lords knew she'd been consulted regularly enough about what to do if and when her people ever actually made it into sight of Sol. It shouldn't have been _that_ much a surprise really. Benjamin had been the linguist who had talked her down from doing anything stupid when she'd first woken up inside Nellis, and had stayed with her, teaching her about the new, maddenly complex world she'd landed in. Now he was much, much more than just a talented linguist.

But...forgetting it was Benjamin for a moment...what did it mean to have the Secretary of State himself come out here, as opposed to one of his minions as she'd always suggested? Never mind make it here as fast as he clearly had? Also, there wasn't anyone uniformed or otherwise from the Octagon present. Clearly, some serious decisions had been made very quickly back planetside.

Starbuck wasn't sure she wanted to know what they were at this point.

Rather than ponder these dark thoughts further, she turned her attention back to the pair of slate-gray eyes that had finally deigned to look up from their reading and address her directly. Starbuck handed the pages across the table to Avery-Hunter, who took them without comment.

"Is there anything substantially different from Major Taylor's account?" Richards asked. "I presume you've read it."

"I glanced through it after completing my own report this morning. The only substantive addition is a short conversation Admiral Rice and I had with Major Agathon that neither Major Taylor nor either of his men were present for."

"Major Agathon being the husband of our guest?" Callisto asked.

"That is correct, XO." She moved to hand the pages over to the Commander, only to have it immediately intercepted by the Secretary. Avery-Hunter did not offer any vocal protest at this, although Callisto's scowl communicated all that was needed.

"Anything of note from that discussion?" Richards prompted as he scanned the report.

Starbuck shook her head. "Just the confirmation that the Old Ma...that Admiral Adama is still in command of the Fleet."

"Nothing else?"

"I...didn't feel that moment was appropriate to play catch-up concerning my former crewmates."

Richards nodded and motioned her to sit. "I commend your restraint. If it were me, I'd be demanding to know all sorts of things." He sat forward, eyes narrowed. "Like if there's a new President of the Colonies or not. Like how many ships we can expect. How many refugees are aboard those ships."

Starbuck met his stare with one of her own. "My mission aboard _Nemesis_ was to assess if the ship and its crew posed a direct military or environmental threat to Earth. Not to play one hundred questions. Sir." She gave him the nastiest glare she could summon. "Why am I answering to you any way, Mr. Secretary? Shouldn't one of the U-Secs from the Octagon be here?" She was referring to the four Undersecretaries who were the civilian heads of the uniformed defense services. In truth, she was grateful none of them were present as her relationship with each of them tended to be on the...cantankerous side.

"Cornwell is running things from under the Octagon right now. Kearns and Wiu were both still off-world as of yesterday and the Secretary General wanted someone out here **ASAP** to represent the Secretariat here."

Starbuck hesitated a moment before asking, "What about...?"

"Baker has been under sedation since you declared Case ZULU."

Starbuck didn't know what to say to that. Clearly, neither did either Avery-Hunter or Callisto. Richards took advantage of their momentary shock. "Commander? I'd like a moment alone with Colonel Thrace." Despite his tone, it wasn't a question or even a polite request. Both Avery-Hunter and Callisto looked ready to refuse it all the same. A short, sharp nod from Starbuck stopped either from responding.

Both officers stood and quit the room, both registering their protests silently as they left. **Once the hatch closed be**hind them, the Secretary of State turned his eyes directly on the Commander, Combined Air Wings of the Terran Fleet.

"**I don't know what I'm more pissed off at, Colonel," **Richards stated bluntly in perfect Colonial. **"The fact you got off-planet without ****my**** knowing first, or ****you're **_**still **_**being out here with Case ZULU declared."** He gave a deep sigh and redirected his eyes to the ceiling. **"Where's Shan?"**

"**Lieutenant Mahan is in a secured location, Sir," **Colonel Thrace reported woodenly.

"**Fine. I don't want to know precisely where." **He took another fortifying breath, an ugly grin turning his lips about. **"The Lords of Kobol are right jokers**** aren't they?"**

"**I wouldn't know, Sir," **Starbuck shot back.

Richards simply nodded. He folded his hands in front of him and looked at her directly. **"Are you prepared to offer a firm opinion on all this?"**

She met his eyes for just a moment, and then refocused on the table. **"No, Sir."**

"**Figured as much. I'm going to be meeting with Captain Agathon and Mr. Carroq after this. I am **_**not**_** going to talk to them about this." **He tapped a finger on the transcript. **"That's between you and them alone. Lewis and the rest understand this is all 'Eyes-Only' and will find themselves out an airlock if they breath**e** one word of it. **

"**What I am going to talk to them about is what comes next. Any suggestions how to approach them?"**

"**Sharon's sharp. Plus she's married with a child, so she's motivated to..."**

"**I get that, and you know that's not what I'm asking. Give me your eyes, Kara. Please." **Kara had to struggle to **meet** the request. She saw the same unflinching, simple honesty there she'd always come to expect from the man.

"**What does your heart tell you?"**

She took a single, deep breath.

Then told him.

* * *

To be concluded. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!**

For those still wondering:

English dialogue is not bolded.

**Colonial dialogue is bolded.**

_Italicized_ _dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless._

An enormous (_Mercury-class _Battlestar sized) thanks to my beta reader Pam Barker, who has given me the needed kick in the pants to give this my all from the start. And thanks also to everyone who has written in so far; you're what keeps this story going!

* * *

**THE LONG ROAD HOME**

**Book I: Promised Land**

**Part 10**

* * *

**1849 Hours GMT**

**2.35 Astronomical Units (AUs) from Sol**

**202.5 Million Kilometers from Earth orbit**

**Black Wing Patrol **

"_Keep it sharp, people. Remember we've got a full sky up here today."_ Greyhound's voice over the wireless betrayed no emotion he might be feeling right then. Starbuck let out a nervous breath and consciously focused expressly upon the on-board AEGIS and her HUD.

Over half the _Olympus' _air wing was currently circling the _Nemesis_ in a very wide pattern right then, requiring some fairly creative airspace coordination and control on the Terran's part given their patrol pattern was a good two thousand kilometers out.

The message was as clear to the _Nemesis _as if Secretary Richards had broadcast it in the clear. Tigh had been accommodating and had promised to keep his own planes grounded but on-deck. The unspoken promise was that if he even suspected something amiss, he'd launch his raiders and rain fire on everything in sight.

This left Starbuck feeling perversely relieved. Clearlythe one-eyed former bane of her existence hadn't lost all of his rough edges.

"_All Wings, Olympus Actual,"_Commander Avery-Hunter's flat voice filtered through the wireless. _"We are in final countdown. Jump event in thirty seconds."_

Starbuck had to consciously keep herself from responding, refocusing once more on her instruments and holding her control stick in a white-knuckle grip.

"_Starbuck, Greyhound."_

"Acknowledged."

"_You okay there, boss?"_

"Fine. Copasetic. An' I'm not your boss, Greyhound." She knew she didn't sound the slightest bit convincing but there was nothing else for it.

Avery-Hunter's voice piped up again. _"Jump event in ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four..."_

Starbuck tuned him out and counted the rest to herself. "Three...two...one...jump."

Everything went still.

Then came the telltale flashes of FTL jumps, over two dozen literally one atop the other. Yet Starbuck had no difficulty counting them out. "Twenty-five...twenty-six...twenty-seven...twenty-eight...twenty-nine..."

"_Starbuck, Olympus Actual."_

"Acknowledged, Actual."

"_Switch to Band 514.7."_

"Band 514.7, acknowledged." She quickly did a manual reset to her comms, feeling herself go completely cold at the voice she heard next.

"_**...are reading over thirty small spacecraft in orbit around us, Nemesis. Please explain."**_

"_**These aircraft from a defense force native to this star system, and are on a wide patrol to ensure no threat emerges at our arrival, Sir," **_Helo's voice replied calmly. _**"I'll allow their on-board representative to explain further."**_

White noise filled her ears for an eternity before Admiral Rice's voice piped in. _**"This **_**is **_**Admiral Theodore Rice of the Terran Defense Fleet. May I know who I am addressing?"**_

"_**This is Admiral William Adama of the Battlestar Galactica."**_

"_**My greetings, Admiral Adama."**_

More white noise.

"_**And mine to you, Admiral Rice." **_Colonel Thrace let herself imagine for just a moment what an uproar the CIC must have been in right then. She idly wondered who was serving as the Old Man's XO these days…

"_**Admiral Rice. I trust Commander Tigh has explained our…situation…sufficiently?"**_

"_**I and my superiors are aware you are refugee fleet seeking save haven, Sir. I should inform you a senior civilian representative is in the area. I should allow him to speak further on this." **_Rice paused, switching to English. _"Anyone listening on this Band, clear grid-reference Bravo-nine-eleven for jump insertion."_

Greyhound's voice broke in. _"Colonel, we're directed…"_

"Clear Bravo-nine-one-one. I heard, I heard. Vipers modify heading to Delta-four-fourteen on my mark…now." The six Vipers of Black Wing executed a sharp turn to **p**ort and relative south. They continued for fifty kilometers on this heading when their instruments registered the momentary disruption of yet another FTL jump directly behind them, heralding the arrival of the _Olympus_. It was an odd, apparently unique quirk to Terran jump engines that they would play momentary havoc with the on-boards of other ships in the immediate vicinity of an arrival point.

"Everybody okay?" Starbuck queried once her instruments cleared, not waiting to hear her wingmates respond. She instead took a fortifying breath and looked upwards through her cockpit (something she'd consciously refused to do to this point).

She recognized nearly every vessel in immediate sight, but had eyes solely for the massive and battle-scarred shape that nearly dwarfed the rest. Even from the distance, she could easily make out the name on its launch pod:

**ΓΑΛΑΚΤΙΚΑ**

Her mind translated her native alphabet without pause:

**GALACTICA**

It felt so surreal, so distant to her right then, Colonel Kara Thrace almost missed the next words that came over the wireless. Words she herself had helped compose, barely a year ago.

"_**This is Secretary of State Benjamin Richards. I am addressing the people of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol from aboard the Battlestar **_**Olympus, **_**which has just jumped into your vicinity. On behalf of the Secretariat of the United Nations, which I serve, and the many peoples it represents, I offer you the heartfelt greetings on behalf of our home planet...known to you as well as us...as Earth.**_

_**"Welcome home."**_

* * *

**End of Book I**

**To be Continue in Book II: **_**The Summit of Pisgah**_

* * *

**Author's parting words: N**o, this isn't the end of the story; quite the reverse. And yes, I'm going address the many questions, concerns, and seeming contradictions (all of them deliberate, I might add) you've seen throughout Book I. Hopefully I've sufficiently whetted your appetite you'll stick around to see what comes next. 

Until next time…


End file.
